Lost Souls
by SmurfLuvsCookies
Summary: In which a pair of sapphire earrings becomes an apocalypse; a cult of dark mages harvests souls for their iniquitous demon overlord; and an unlikely duo must save the world before Mirajane's surprise birthday party.
1. Prologue

_**Author's Note:** Howdy! This is a pet project I've wanted to do for a while now, but for some reason I've never gotten around to it. I've was just too busy with other things, I guess. But now that the Lisanna and Bixlow thing is starting to take off, I've decided to contribute more. Because I love them. Dearly. This is something a little different for me, though; it's less comedy, more action, something of a serious take on life in Fiore. Hence the M rating. It's not necessarily because of sex. It's really violence. Because this is going to get violent. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it, and don't forget to spread the love (or whatever it is you humans call that feeling of warm satisfaction in your gut) via favoriting and following and reviewing. :)_

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fairy Tail. I think it's well established by now that Hiro Mashima does, and I'm not Hiro Mashima. Please stop making me say it. I die a little inside every time._

* * *

**Prologue**

A shadow shifted in the darkness.

Alastor looked up from the flame pit into the gaping maw of the tunnel. It was just a flicker, a silent glimpse two shades darker than the glittering teeth of the great stone beast. He brought his attention back to the fire. "Good evening, Sister."

A swish of the swirling black cloak brushing the rock floor was the only sound the woman made as she stepped into the light of the cavern. Gurgling hymns rose from the tunnel behind her, misshapen music echoing off the stone walls, enfolding the residents in the ugly, reassuring noise. The figure inclined her head toward the white fire in the center of the cave. "Good evening, Brother Alastor." She removed the hood of her robes, letting white hair bleached from the light of the flames tumble down her shoulders. Her eyes were stark black holes in her fair face.

"Duska," Alastor greeted warmly, less formally. He stood, red robes unfurling around his broad body, stopping just out of reach of the pit. "What have I the pleasure?"

"It is I who have the pleasure of your company, Brother," Duska murmured. "I have news that will please you. The blessing is almost complete. All that is left are the sacrifices."

Alastor looked back down at the flames, scratching the brown stubble on his chin. "You were right, Duska. This news does please me." He turned back to her. "Fetch Brother Hugh."

"I'm already here." A second shadow detached from the wall, shooting smoothly into the light. Alastor was impressed, and a little alarmed. He hadn't noticed the slim dark man slouching in the creases of the cave. Then again, Hugh was his lieutenant for that very skill.

"Leave us," Hugh told Duska in his deep, firm voice. The woman nodded and retreated into the tunnel, pulling the hood back over her blonde head. Her narrowed eyes betrayed her dislike for Hugh, but no one really _did_ appreciate the lieutenant. No one except Alastor. And here, only Alastor's opinion mattered.

Hugh's eyes were silver in the white light, his hair and skin black as pitch. Unlike the others, he never honored the tradition of wearing the hood of his robes before speaking to a superior. He never addressed anyone as 'brother' or 'sister' either, which was generally a grievous insult. Hugh, however, was good enough at his job to forgive such insubordination. Good and loyal.

The lieutenant pointed one long finger at the white flames. "Duska shared the news. It's time to begin, Alastor. What have you seen?"

"Nothing," Alastor said, walking around the fire pit. The word brought a smirk to his thin lips. "Absolutely nothing."

"Why are you so smug? Nothing isn't good. It gives us no leads, nowhere to strike."

"I disagree," said Alastor. "Nothing means we've accomplished our goal. Nothing means there is no future. No future in the flames, no future in the future. Nothing is a blank canvas on which we can paint the glorious vision of our Lord Zeref."

Hugh scowled. "But we need sacrifices, Alastor. Where are we to get the sacrifices?"

"Never fear, dear brother. There is plenty of fodder around us." Alastor brushed his fingers along the flames, twirling and shaping the fire into the spindles of a grand guild hall. "All we need to do is hunt."

Hugh's teeth flashed like a bright blade in the dimness. "Hunting. I know how to do that. I'll grab Enid, and we'll have your sacrifices before sundown tomorrow."

"No, not Enid," Alastor said sharply, his fiery guild hall collapsing. "I need this done quietly. Even the fiercest wolves cannot slaughter an entire flock of protected sheep. But when they take the lambs in the night, one by one, eventually they will conquer the shepherd's herd."

"I think you underestimate the wolves," Hugh growled.

"Regardless, there can be no mistakes. We're cutting it close as it is. If one thing goes awry, the whole operation will tumble."

"Very well," Hugh resigned.

"I'm glad you've listened to reason," said Alastor. He swept his hand across the fire so it raged, screaming, up to the ceiling. Hugh flew back to avoid the inferno, eyes round and panicked, like a wild animal caught between fight and flight. Alastor tipped back his head and laughed. "Remember, Brother Hugh," he warned with a ferocious grin, "the best killers are those whose prey doesn't realize it's already dead."

With a snap of his fingers, he put out the flame.


	2. Chapter One

_**Author's Note:** Getting promising feedback so far! To answer some questions: I will admit that I did skip some other projects that got higher ratings on the poll on my profile page in favor of writing this one, but don't worry; **Too Sexy** and **Dragonlings** will not go ignored. They will get done. I just really wanted to do this one first._

_Onward, to the first real chapter!_

* * *

**Chapter One**

Lisanna wrinkled her nose at the request board. There were three papers secured to the cork with shiny new thumbtacks—the guild tended to obliterate anything resembling office supplies, so Mirajane was constantly replenishing them—and none of the requests paid particularly well. "What happened to all the requests that were here yesterday?" Lisanna asked Nab, gesturing hopelessly to the barren board.

"It's Thursday," Nab replied with a sympathetic look. Lisanna groaned—not only was it Thursday, it was the last Thursday of the month. Everyone's rent was due. The Strauss siblings didn't have to worry about that, since they lived in an old house just a few blocks away, but Lisanna was intent on earning money this month—money for her sister's birthday present. It was just two weeks away, and she still needed another seven hundred jewels to buy the gorgeous sapphire earrings she'd caught Mirajane admiring in town.

Nab raised an eyebrow and glanced across the bar, where Mira was chatting with Erza, who was apparently flourishing financially if the amount of strawberry cake in front of her was any indication. Lisanna followed his gaze and jumped when his fingers brushed her arm, a folded paper note crinkling slightly as he slipped it into her cupped hand. Nab winked at her and crossed his arms over his chest, placid face returning to its default expression, eyes flicking away as if nothing had occurred. Though slightly confused, Lisanna thanked him and casually stuck her hands in her pockets, drifting across the guild until she reached the back door. Once outside, she pulled the faded yellow paper from her pocket and opened it.

.

HELP WANTED

Potential sorcery. Mage wanted to investigate disappearance of sheep from a shepherd's pasture on the tree line of the East Forest outside Magnolia Town. Shepherd in great distress, help as soon as possible. Payment of **90,000 jewels** if problem is identified and prevented.

.

Underneath the small paragraph were directions to the shepherd's pasture and a picture of a rugged cottage beneath a sprawling maple tree. Lisanna grinned. Nab must have guessed what she and Elfman were planning, and snagged decent jobs for them before the monthly rent rush. She bit her lip. If Nab noticed their sudden increase in work, there was a fair chance Mira had too. Mirajane probably knew her siblings were planning something, but Elfman and Lisanna took great pains not to tip her off to exactly what. They'd told no one, just conspired among each other. Still, in a guild full of curious mages, someone was bound to figure it out. And Mirajane was the nosiest of all.

Nevertheless, this request was exactly what Lisanna needed to top off Mira's birthday funds and finally get those earrings. She'd give Nab a special show of gratitude at the party. Maybe she could hook him up with Milly, the woman who ran the animal shelter she volunteered for. Milly was recently single, and Lisanna had never known Nab to date anyone. They both loved animals, so that was a start. She could see it now: "Hey, Nab, this is my friend Milly, she works at the animal shelter…Milly, this is the guy I was telling you about…the seith mage who uses animal possession…oh, no, no, it doesn't hurt the animal spirits…Nab, why don't you tell her more about it, I'm going to go get some punch…" And then she'd walk away and they would get engaged.

"I'm turning into Mira," she chuckled to herself, folding the yellow paper in her hand.

"Well, I hope not," came a familiar voice from behind. "One Mira is manly enough."

Lisanna turned and smiled up at her brother, who stepped from the threshold of the back door. "Elf-bro," she greeted, "I don't know if Mira would necessarily consider that a complement."

"But it was," Elfman frowned, clearly under the impression that manliness was a universally superior state of being, despite the attempts by everyone in the guild—particularly the women—to convince him otherwise. "Anyway, what are you doing out here all by yourself?" He peered around suspiciously. "You _are_ by yourself, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm by myself," Lisanna said with a smirk. "Not that it would make any difference if I wasn't."

"I'd hate to beat some unmanly bastard to a bloody pulp right outside our guild," Elfman sniffed.

Lisanna rolled her eyes and flicked out the yellow paper. "Nab saved us a job. We have to figure out why some sheep are disappearing for nine hundred jewels. That should be enough to cover the rest of Mira's party, don't you think?"

"Yeah, more than enough," said Elfman, squinting at the paper. "Nine hundred jewels just for that? It's probably just a wolf or something. Why would he pay so much?"

"He's probably desperate," Lisanna reasoned. "A shepherd can't work without sheep. Do you want to come with me?"

"Sure. I don't feel right about you going by yourself, anyway."

"You're so overprotective," Lisanna said, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Just looking out for my sister, that's all," Elfman said. "It's the manly thing to do."

Lisanna rolled her eyes and started down the street, Elfman following suit. "You don't treat Mira like that," she pointed out. "I know you'd do anything to keep her safe, but you don't follow her around and beat up guys who hit on her. She does dangerous stuff all the time and you never say anything."

"You're my _younger_ sister," said Elfman. "It's different."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"I think you're just scared of her," Lisanna teased.

"I'm scared of both of you," Elfman admitted.

They walked for a while longer, following the directions printed on the request, discussing the details of Mirajane's surprise birthday party, one that she was inevitably aware of but would act shocked at for courtesy's sake. The map took them down the river until it ran out of the city, into the wilderness of the East Forest. They passed a scatter of cozy houses and waved at families huddled together around fires, grandparents on their porches slowly swaying on their rocking chairs as they watched their grandchildren run after fireflies. The cicadas were singing an evening song by the time they passed the last landmark, a massive boulder covered in gray-green moss.

"I think that's it," Lisanna said, pointing up ahead. The modest cottage matched the picture on the yellow paper, towering maple tree and all. The rest of the land was neatly trimmed pasture, rolling for acres until the great trees of the forest barricaded everything else from view—the city, the comfortable country houses, everything. All around them was creaking, humming wood.

"I bet my manliness it's coyotes," Elfman said, narrowing his eyes at the dark trees surrounding them. "Coyotes or wolves. Maybe bobcats."

"Slow your roll there, Eagle scout," Lisanna giggled. "The request says 'potential sorcery' for a reason. Let's talk to the shepherd and see what he as to say before we jump to conclusions."

As they neared the cottage, the whitewash door creaked and a lively little man appeared from within, stepping onto the square stone slab in front of the entrance. He was old and stooped over a tall black staff, a short gray beard trimmed neatly on his face, wild salt-and-pepper hair tumbling over his shoulders.

"Are you the mages?" he asked them in a tired, tight voice.

"Yes, we're from Fairy Tail," Lisanna replied, holding up the yellow paper. "I'm Lisanna and this is my brother, Elfman. You're the shepherd with the disappearing sheep?"

"That's right. The name's Lowell," said the shepherd. He stepped down from the concrete slab and shambled toward them, using his staff more for balance on the sloping hill than for support. He gestured one big hand toward the acreage. "C'mon, I'll show you the fields."

They followed him around the obstructing branches of the maple tree. Its leaves chattered noisily in the breeze, and little helicopter seeds spiraled down on them like spinning rain. Lisanna caught one in her hand and smiled a little, recalling a fuzzy memory of a park and a strong man with white hair lifting her up in the air, spinning her around and around like the seeds falling from the trees beside the squealing swing set.

"They're all that's left," Lowell said, pointing out into the distance. Lisanna blinked out of her reverie and let the seed fall from her fingers, counting the fluffy white clouds grazing from the pasture. "There's five now, but I had thirteen."

"Over half of your sheep are gone?" Lisanna blurted. "How long has this been going on?"

"Only about a week! One sheep disappears every night. At first I thought coyotes or something, so I let the dogs roam around the next night. Good dogs, too. Old, but loyal. Next morning, both of them were gone, along with another sheep." Lowell nodded to himself. "That's why I think it's something dark. Black magic. Wild animals aren't that systematic."

"It is weird," Elfman agreed.

"We'll take a look around and see what we can find out," Lisanna assured, tucking the yellow paper into the back pocket of her shorts. "We'll stay through the night if we have to."

"Thank you," Lowell sighed. "I can't afford to lose any more."

The shepherd watched them as they strode down the hill, deeper into the pasture. Lisanna peeked over her shoulder at his silhouette. "What do you think?" she asked Elfman.

"I'm beginning to see why this job is nine hundred jewels," he replied gruffly. "It's definitely something worth looking into, though. I've never seen anything like it."

"Me neither," Lisanna admitted.

"This is a big pasture," Elfman said. "It'll go quicker if we split up. I'll go take a look at the sheep, see if they give us any clues."

Lisanna nodded as he headed off, poking at some grass with her toe. She frowned and squinted at the blades. Most of the grass was soft and green, lush from the warm spring showers. There was a patch just a few meters from the tree, though, which was dead and brown. It was a perfect circle, surrounded by a ring of black ash. Lisanna crouched down for a closer look. She ran her fingers across the tips of the dead lawn, watched it crumble delicately under the pressure. She turned her head. Elfman was already halfway across the pasture, striding determined toward the pale shapes in the distance. She cupped her hands around her mouth.

"Elf—"

Her cry cut off at a shriek was the dead grass under her feet exploded into hot dust around her, filling her eyes and nose and mouth with the taste of decay. Lisanna fell back on her elbows, coughing and rubbing her teary eyes. When she looked up she could make out the blurry outline of a figure in a black cloak. The person's face was hidden from view, all but a sharp chin covered in yellow bristles.

"Lisanna!"

She looked back and saw Elfman sprinting toward her. There were at least a dozen other cloaked figures surrounding the pasture, the dust from their arrival settling around them.

The man above her stepped from the circle. Lisanna pushed herself up and kicked at his legs before he could attack. He dodged and cursed at her, but she'd already transformed into her cat form. She lunged at him, swiping at his chest with her long, sharp claws.

The cloaked figure wasn't fast enough. Her claws sliced through the flesh of his chest, and he collapsed, clutching his shirt. Lisanna's paws came back bloody.

She turned and looked for Elfman, but he was already surrounded by cloaked figures, fending him off in his lizard form. "Get the shepherd!" he yelled, hoisting one enemy into the air and throwing him onto another. Lisanna nodded and wings unfurled from her back. She flew toward the lonely cottage, from which a small yellow light had just flicked on.

Her feet hit the concrete slab outside the door so hard it sent a shock through her legs. She banged on the wood with her fist, looking around for any other cloaked figures. "Lowell!" she cried. "Lowell, it's Lisanna, open up! You're in danger, I need to get you out of here! Lowell!"

Lisanna tried the knob and threw the door open, blinking in the bright light from the inside. She gasped at the scene before her: shelves cluttered with bottles full of disgusting, squirming _things_, skeletal herbs hanging from the ceiling, a table in the center of the room piled high with lethal instruments of torment, some of which were stained brick-red. Worst of all was the smell of rotting meat coming from the corpses suspended with the herbs, all lit up starkly in the bright white light. In the center of it was Lowell, staff gripped like a weapon in both hands, and beside him stood a man dressed in a black cloak, hood down to reveal a bald brown head and thick black beard.

The cloaked man gave her a smile as sharp as any of the blades on the table, and lifted his hand in one long, elegant motion. Suddenly, Lisanna was paralyzed, her legs gave out under her, she couldn't stop the fall, she couldn't bring her hands out to cushion the blow. Her head hit the floor, and she noticed it was all stained with blood before it turned to black.

* * *

Bixlow blinked at the foamy bottom of his tankard. Wasn't it just full of ale a second ago? He shook his head and slid off the bar stool, lurching forward when the room spun around him. A slim pair of shoulders slipped under his arm—Fried, scowling the way he did before a lecture.

"Why is it," he began, "that every time I turn my head you somehow manage to drink yourself into incoherency?"

"'Cause y'turn your head e'ery time the barmaid walks by to refill my drink," Bixlow slurred with a lecherous grin in Mirajane's direction. His babies swung haphazardly around his head, singing, "Another drink! Drink!"

"Amusing," Fried retorted, though he was clearly not humored in the slightest. He groaned as he hoisted Bixlow onto his feet. "Come on, it's time to go home. I think you've had enough to drink."

Bixlow snorted, snatching his arm from Fried's support, only for the floor to shift under his feet. He caught himself on the bar, blinking the room back into focus. Everything was so bright between the slits of his mask, the soft glowing souls of the dead and the blinding brilliance of the living only augmented by the alcohol buzzing in his system. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the light and reign in the power seeping through his pupils. No one was affected by his Figure Eyes while the mask was on, but they tended to act up when he was drunk—which could get problematic if the mask flew off in a brawl. He let Fried help him to his feet again. "Fine," he growled. "Let's go home."

Fried heaved him toward the door, stopping only to answer the barmaid's inquiry concerning the whereabouts of her siblings. "I saw Lisanna talking to Nab earlier," he told her. "Then she left. I haven't seen Elfman all day."

"I'm worried," Mirajane confided, biting her lip nervously. "It's getting late. They would have told me if they were taking a mission."

"Didja try askin' Evergreen?" Bixlow drawled. "Maybe she's keepin' your brother occupied."

Fried punched his gut with forcefulness between playful and serious—a warning shot. "Don't listen to him," he said. "He's drunk off his ass."

"As for your sister," the seith mage continued, undeterred, "I dunno about her, but if you ever need someone t'keep her occupied, I'd be happy to oblige."

"Bixlow!" Fried snapped. An angry red blush flashed across Mirajane's cheeks.

"What? It's a _complement_. She's hot," he garbled. His babies chirped, "Hot! Hot!"

"I'm so sorry about this," Fried huffed. "I really need to get him home before any more words come out of his mouth. If I see Lisanna or Elfman, I'll tell them you're looking for them."

"Thank you," Mirajane said, nodding. Bixlow wasn't sure if she was thanking him for carrying the message or taking him away.

"'Nough with the flirting," Bixlow complained, stumbling toward the door. "I think I'm gonna hurl. 'N not from the beer, if y'know what I mean."

Fried glared at him and began guiding him toward the exit. "You're an ass, you know that?" he muttered as he pulled the door open. "A complete and total—"

"Hey, looky there," Bixlow interrupted, pointing at the gate. "It's the elf guy the barmaid was lookin' for. Hey, Elfguy!" The tiki dolls chorused behind him, "Elfguy! Elfguy!"

"Oh, no," Fried whispered, growing still when his eyes landed on the approaching man. He tugged Bixlow back inside and practically threw him into a chair, hurrying over to the door as Elfman stepped through the threshold, blocking most of Bixlow's view. All he could see was Elfman's face, which was pale and haunted and dirty except for two clean tracks running down his cheeks.

Mirajane cried out from across the room. The last remaining customers in the guild went silent as Elfman shuffled on, all the way to the bar where Mirajane was frozen, hands clasped over her mouth, blue eyes wide and horrified. A crowd gathered around them. Bixlow saw Elfman lay something on the counter. He shifted for a better view and caught the pale shape of a slender white foot.

He could hear Mirajane wailing over the confused murmurs: "Oh my God! Oh my God! Elfman, what happened?! _What happened_?!"

Her brother was vacant, unable to answer. Fried's voice boomed out instead. "Mira, she's alive," he said somewhere among the crowd. "She's alive."

Makarov suddenly appeared beside Bixlow, his old wrinkled face aged with solemnity. He hobbled forward, parting the group without a word. Without the bodies blocking his sight, the entire scene was laid out before Bixlow.

The barmaid's younger sister laid on the counter in utter stillness, unsoiled but for the blood on her fingers and matted in her white hair. Fried removed his fingers from her small limp wrist as Makarov approached. Mirajane hovered over the body on the counter, afraid to touch anything, afraid to interfere, afraid of the worst. Elfman just stood off to the side, bloody and dirty and defeated, shoulders slumped, big hands hanging by his sides.

Makarov climbed onto the bar and inspected the unconscious girl for a few long moments. Then he turned to the brother. "What happened?"

"I…we…" Elfman let out a shuddering breath, started over. "Lisanna found this job. For a shepherd outside of town. I went with her and when we got there…we were attacked by these guys in robes. Black robes. There were a dozen of them. Lisanna went to protect the shepherd in his cottage, and…and I fought the guys. They were mages, strong ones, so it took a long time. Some of them escaped, I don't know how many, they took their comrades with them. They disappeared in a cloud of dust. I hurried back to the cottage and found Lisanna…" He crumbled, a tear falling from the tip of his nose. "Lisanna was laying on the ground, so cold, so still. There were all sorts of…_things_ around the cottage. Evil things. I couldn't find the shepherd. The bastard must have been in on it. It was an ambush, a trap, and I don't know what they…what they did to her. I have no idea."

Makarov hummed and looked once more at the girl. He reached out and took her hand, rubbing the smooth white fingers between his own shriveled palms. "She's ice cold," he said. "But she's breathing and she has a pulse. There's something…wrong, here. I just…I don't know what. I've never seen anything like this."

"There's nothin' to see," Bixlow shouted. Everyone turned to him, some eyes wide, some eyes narrowed, most just surprised that he was speaking at all. His babies chirped, "Nothing to see!" Fried looked livid. He stepped forward, perhaps to take him outside where he couldn't interrupt the mournful proceedings, but Makarov put a hand on his chest, holding him back.

"Wait. Say what you mean, Bixlow," the old man permitted.

"There's nothin' there," Bixlow said, struggling to come up with the right words in his alcohol-addled brain. "No…glow. She ain't glowin'."

"Glowing?"

"Yeah. Like…" Bixlow made a vague, finger wagging gesture with his hands. "Glowin'. Her body's all dark inside. There's no…soul. That's it. She ain't gotta soul anymore."

"Her _soul_ is missing?" Mirajane repeated. She turned to Makarov. "Is that possible?"

"Hypothetically," Makarov pondered. "I don't know much about seith magic. Bixlow, you're saying that you usually see glowing…souls in people, but you don't see one in Lisanna anymore?"

"That's right."

"You're sure?"

"One hundred and ten percent," Bixlow nodded, frowning. "What's lyin' on the counter there is nothin' but her body. That girl's soul is gone."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Porlyusica wasn't happy. But then, no one crowded in her little dwelling was.

Dawn was stretching across the horizon when they knocked on the witch's door, Elfman carrying Lisanna carefully in his arms. Porlyusica answered them with a snarl and a sharp tongue, but when she noticed the urgency of the situation she stepped aside and let them enter.

She lit candles and directed Elfman to lay Lisanna down on the freshly tousled bed. Porlyusica was still dressed in a conservative white nightgown, the kind that buttoned all the way up to her chin and fell heavy like a curtain at her feet. Her pale pink hair cast two long shadows on her face as she poised the yellow flame of a match over the wick of a lopsided green candle. She strode over and handed the tin carrier to Mirajane. "Hold that over her," she ordered. "Don't let the wax drip."

Mira nodded and lowered the candle so it illuminated Lisanna's body. Porlyusica leaned over her and gently touched the matted blood in her hair, probed for the cut. Her frown deepened. The girl was cold, colder than a corpse, but she still breathed, and cold blood dribbled from her head. "What happened?" she inquired expressionlessly, standing to gather materials for the head wound. Elfman relayed the story as she picked gauze and herbs from her cabinet and dressed Lisanna's injury.

When Elfman finished, Makarov stepped in. "One of my seith mages said her soul is gone," he commented stoically. His eyes pleaded with Porlyusica, begging for hope. "What can we do?"

The witch sighed. "There's not much I _can_ do," she admitted. "Her body is healthy, with the exception of the head wound. If her soul is indeed missing, which does seem to be the case, there's nothing I can do but keep her that way until we find it."

"Find her soul?!" Elfman cried. "But it was taken away! How are we even supposed to find something like that?"

"Don't snap at me!" Porlyusica barked. "I've no idea. But until you do, she'll stay this way. Comatose."

"What…what happens if we can't?" came Mirajane's small voice from the corner. "If we can't find it? What will happen?"

"It depends." Porlyusica looked sternly at them. "Her body will probably hold up for a while. But eventually it will begin to deteriorate. Without a soul…it's unlikely she'll live much longer than a few years."

"Please," Mira sobbed, "we just got her back."

"What do you want me to do about that?!" Porlyusica snapped. "It's not like I can snap my fingers and make her better. I can't go out and find her soul for you. If you really want her to survive, you'll go find the people responsible and rescue her soul yourselves!"

Makarov put a firm hand on her bony shoulder, a reminder of what she was dealing with. Silent tears dripped from Mira's chin. Elfman's fists were clenched. The witch turned her head from them. Humans. She forgot how fragile they were in times of crisis.

"I'll take care of her body," she said. "I'll make sure nothing happens to her."

"Mirajane will stay and assist you," said Makarov. He crooked a finger at Elfman. "We'll go back to the guild, put together a task force. We'll get Lisanna back, whatever it takes."

Porlyusica watched the brother and sister embrace. The girl wiped the tears from her cheeks as the men left, straightened her shoulders, and turned to the witch with a stern, stoic curve to her mouth. "What can I do?"

"Help me set up a cot," Porlyusica groaned, standing. Her knees ached and already she was fatigued. "So I can rest. I'll set one up for you, too, if you'd like."

"That would be lovely," Mirajane murmured in reply. She bowed her head. "Thank you. For helping us. I don't know if I've ever told you that."

Porlyusica shrugged. "No one ever does. Gratitude is often overshadowed by panic and anger and sorrow. But I don't take it personally. Humans are an ungrateful breed, but they make up for it through their compassion."

In spite of herself, Mirajane smiled a little. "I think that's the first nice thing I've heard you say about humans."

"I'm not overly fond of your kind. Don't get used to it. Now, what are you standing there twiddling your thumbs for? Help me get these cots out of the closet, if you want a place to sleep!"

* * *

Bixlow moaned, shutting his eyes against the morning light as more somber guild members entered the hall. Fried tossed him a vile look, one that the recipient didn't see but sensed nonetheless.

"Don't look at me like that," he snarled, peeking up at Fried with acid in his voice. "I'm in pain." His babies chirped, "Pain! Pain!" quietly around him.

"You're hung over," Fried scoffed. "You go through this every weekend, I don't see how you're not immune to it yet."

"Don't act all high and mighty. You ain't exactly a dry county. Besides, I wanted to stay home this mornin' but _someone_ dragged me to the guild anyway."

"Because Lisanna Strauss' soul is _missing_, Bixlow," Fried said incredulously. He added, "And you're our best seith mage," but the unspoken words were tagged on at the end: _She's our nakama. Care a little more_.

Bixlow shut his mouth and rested it on his arms, curling into a turtle-shell stance. Sure, the Strauss girl was part of the guild, but would she give a damn if his soul was missing? Would anyone, besides the Raijinshuu? The only time he'd ever addressed her was to order a drink. He'd had more fulfilling conversations with his toaster.

But then, he supposed this toaster wasn't part of Fairy Tail. Despite his detachment from the actual members, Bixlow did harbor a certain pride for his guild, and this abduction was an attack on them. While even this line of thinking didn't launch him into throes of rage, it did provide him with enough motivation to stop complaining and stay. Besides, there was plenty of rage in the air. The guild could use some level heads.

Bixlow snorted to himself. It was a sad day when it was up to him to speak reason.

Evergreen slinked into the conversation, shooting Bixlow a disdainful toss of her bushy brown hair. "Maybe he should go home. We've got Bab, over there."

"It's _Nab_," Bixlow growled. Hell, he may not talk to the other mages much, but at least he knew their damn names. Most of them. "And he works with animal souls, not human ones."

"There's a difference?"

"Huge." Bixlow sat up, rising from hibernation like a grizzly bear. "His magic is more like what Elfman uses. That Take Over shit." He winced when the babies piped, "Shit! Shit!" into the stony silence of the guild hall. They always favored vulgar words. Bixlow looked over at the other seith mage, who sat by the request board with red eyes and a pinched, serious face. "He probably won't be much help."

Someone bumped into him, roughly, nearly knocking him out of the stool. Bixlow opened his mouth and stared right into the vengeful eyes of Cana Alberona. She had a fistful of his shirt in her hand and threw him back onto the bar before he could get a word out. "At least he wants to be here," she snarled, shaking her head at him. He heard her mumble, "Jackass," under her breath as she walked away.

Fried and Evergreen both stared after her, but Bixlow could tell they weren't mentally defending him. They probably agreed with her. It put a sour taste in his mouth. It wasn't his fault she came in the conversation at the wrong time. She obviously hadn't heard him correct Evergreen. She didn't know what he was thinking, she couldn't read his mind. Maybe he was as worried and wrathful as the rest, but was good at not showing it. She wouldn't know. She didn't know him well enough to know.

_Bitch_.

Even in Bixlow's brain, the insult was half-hearted. He couldn't bring himself to mutter it out loud.

"Nab must be pretty messed up," Fried said to no one in particular. "He's the one who gave Lisanna that job, apparently. He saved it for her because he knew she was trying to scrape money together for Mira's birthday."

Bixlow didn't reply. He just settled back into his stool and hunkered down, grumpy and a little ashamed.

Makarov came back a few minutes later, without either of the Strauss girls, just Elfman looming over him like a giant sulky shadow. Everyone perked up at his entrance, eager for news, for instructions, for clues. No one here was looking for comfort, not from Makarov. The mages of Fairy Tail were hard people, each and every one, and they knew better than to go looking for consolation. The world rarely ever provided it.

Fairy Tail was full of doers. They wanted Lisanna back, and they knew solace would get them nowhere.

"Lisanna is staying with Porlyusica for now," Makarov began, climbing up onto the bar so everyone could hear him. He was tactful enough not to call it 'Lisanna's body' even though that's what it really was. "She'll be fine, as long as we can find her soul. Once we get her soul back into her body, she'll be back to normal."

"Alright!" Natsu cried out, raising an ignited fist. "Let's go find the bastards that took her!"

The crowd cheered along with him, that nervous energy finding a positive, vengeful release. Leave it up to the Salamander to rile a gathering.

"A task force will go to the pasture where Elfman and Lisanna were attacked," Makarov said. He pointed at the group of mages in the center. "Elfman, take Natsu, Erza, Lucy, Happy, and Gray to the scene. Do some research, look around, bring back any information you can find."

"Aye!" Happy chirped. The others nodded.

"Levy, you start looking up clues with what we know so far," Makarov ordered, pointing at the startled scholar. "Anything pertaining to souls, men in cloaks, sheep, sacrifice, anything at all. We'll narrow down your results with whatever else the task force can find."

"Right," said Levy, putting on her Gale Force reading glasses.

"Bixlow, you're our residential expert on human souls," Makarov continued, turning his wise old eyes to the masked man. "Help her."

"Aye-aye, cap'n," Bixlow said, shooting Makarov a loose two-fingered salute that he regretted immediately afterward. Like the little blue bookworm would need his help. By the end of the day, she'd probably know more about souls than he did. He caught her looking his way, and even though she shot him an apprehensive smile, he could tell that she was thinking she'd be better off without his interference. Looked like Black Steel Gajeel and the other two goofs were thinking the same.

Not that he was really obligated to do anything. _Help her_. What kind of guidance was that? Everyone else got big long paragraphs, freaking step-by-step instructions, he got two little words. _Help her_.

Help who? Bixlow had never really helped anyone in his life. His help got Laxus exiled, embarrassed Fried, made Evergreen snap his head off. He was never thanked for helping, if ever anyone trusted him to help.

The task force left a few minutes afterward, only pausing to group together and gather a few materials they might need—bags for samples, magnifying glasses, gloves. Detective things. Levy was already emerging from the back library where Makarov kept all his books on magic, arms piled high with manuscripts. She'd also sent Jet and Droy to Magnolia's public library to clean the shelves of any reference to souls and sacrifice. She didn't look in Bixlow's direction again. She just crouched over her books and began scribbling words down on paper, her glasses flashing, Gajeel and Pantherlily peering curiously over her shoulders.

"Aren't you going to help her?" Evergreen asked, stirring a glass of ice water with a straw. No one was drinking alcohol, and Cana wasn't serving it.

"She doesn't need my help," Bixlow replied. "And if she does, she'll come ask for it. I'll only get in her way."

"How very humble of you," said Evergreen, taking a sip from the straw. Bixlow narrowed his eyes at her and considered knocking the water off the counter, onto her silky green blouse, but refrained.

"Bixlow," Fried interrupted, in a way that said he was leading up to a heavy question, "how long do you think we have? To find Lisanna's soul, I mean."

The seith mage exhaled through his nose, thinking. "Well, it depends. If they put her in a soul glass, she's pretty much preserved until they use her for the sacrifice, which is who-knows-when. But if they screwed it up—and catching a soul from a living thing is tricky business, believe me—then she'll float around aimlessly until she can't remember who she is anymore, or what she's supposed to be doin'. She'll literally scatter in the wind until there's nothin' to her anymore. Poof. Gone."

"How long is that?" Fried asked over the babies' chorus of, "Poof! Poof! Gone!"

"A few days. Maybe a week, if she's real feisty. If her body was dead, there'd be the possibility of her becomin' a ghost with this kind of intrigue surrounding her situation, but since she's still got a beating heart, that ain't gonna happen. And you wouldn't want it to. Ghosts are always miserable."

"I hope they find her," Evergreen murmured, staring at the ice clinking around in her glass.

"Me, too," Fried agreed. He glanced over his shoulder at the bar, a habit he'd acquired, but the barmaid wasn't there to meet his eye. He looked back down at his hands.

Bixlow only shrugged.

* * *

Lisanna was in a dark place, but it was warm and comfortable. She was lulled by a gentle rocking, a softness all around her, like she was cocooned in the world's plushest feather-bed. Her mind was pleasantly thoughtless, buzzing contently, almost in a drugged state. She was high on luxury.

Then there was a crack, a shattering sound, loud and roaring in her ears. A blinding glare of light that burned her all over, sucked her into attention. Everything around her was spinning out of control, there was so much to look at all around her, and no matter where she turned she was bumped by a passing breeze, brushed by a spirit, by a dust mote in the air, a particle of garlic breath. She was reeling, and then she could see colors, she could see the blue of the sky and the green of the grass and the angry red-peach of faces around her, cursing, shoving her away with their loud screeching voices, nudging her with the flapping of their black cloaks.

Lisanna experienced a moment of sublime clarity—Elfman! These men had attacked her and Elfman, she had to get away, she had to run away, but she couldn't run, she had no legs, no feet to carry her. She twisted and turned, learning to swim through the air, wriggling from hands that couldn't touch her, hiding from eyes that couldn't see her. Another face entered the mix, this one cold and calm and brown, silver eyes locking down on her with intense directness. Lisanna struggled with the motions, a baby rocking for momentum, as he reached into his cloak and pulled out a smooth black bottle with a round bottom. She wanted to scream, but there was no mouth, no voice to shout.

Just as he uncorked the bottle, something in Lisanna clicked—maybe she was propelled by a sudden burst of desperation, of panic—and she shot into the sky, launched like a rocket, slung by a catapult.

Once the alarm left her, the flying was easy. She could stretch for miles, she could reach out and touch everything around her all at once. She was shapeless, she was weightless; she was something more than air, less than a cloud. She was sunlight streaming through a window, she was pollen riding on the breeze.

She was freedom.


	4. Chapter Three

_**Author's Note:** Hellooo there! It's been a while. I'd like to thank everyone for the great feedback! A review recently brought it to my attention that the value of Fiore's currency in my story is a bit low; I was using the American dollar instead of the Japanese Yen, which is what Mashima intended. Therefore, I've gone back and updated the job request's reward. That is all. :)_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"So this is it?"

Gray's question flopped face-first in the grass as the six of them stood in a straight line, looking out into the pasture beyond the gray little cottage under a maple tree. They'd been standing that way in silence for a good minute, after Elfman had just stopped walking.

"Yeah," the man in question grumbled. "This is it."

Erza put a gauntleted hand on Elfman's arm. "Walk us through what happened again."

So he did, his voice slow and monotone as he walked them down to the pasture where he'd been attacked, showed them where Lisanna had stood, brought them to where he'd found her body. He stared at the whitewash door of the cottage as he finished up. There was a big blood smear across its surface.

"We'll divide up the tasks," Erza said once he was finished. "Natsu and Happy, you two walk around the pasture where Lisanna was. Try and figure out what she was crouching to look at before the attack. Elfman and I will try to hunt down the sheep and see what's in the farther pasture near the tree line. Gray and Lucy, you two inspect the cottage."

They split. Elfman and Erza jogged their way toward the tree line. Natsu and Happy scrambled down the hill toward the spot where Elfman fought the cloaked men. Gray and Lucy stared at the bloody entrance to the cottage, apprehensive.

"You go first," said Lucy.

"Why me?"

"Because what Elfman described was pretty disgusting, and I'm a _lady_."

Gray ran his eyes up and down Lucy's revealing outfit. "You don't exactly dress like a lady, do you?"

"You're one to talk. Just open the door."

He scoffed, but obeyed, then reeled back as soon as the first wave of heat from inside hit his face, coughing with his sleeve over his mouth. Lucy gagged and covered her own mouth and nose, looking incredulously at the door. "What is that _smell_?"

Gray tentatively kicked the door open further, grimacing at what he saw inside. "Elfman wasn't exaggerating," he said, voice nasally as he plugged his nose against the stench. Flies swarmed around the carcasses of animals hanging from the ceiling, giving off the horrendous odor. Some of them were still a gray-pink; two or three were literally rotted, green and black. Gray gathered his courage and stepped through the threshold, eyes watering at the smell. There was blood splattered all on the floor, and little tuffs of pink wool. "Found the missing sheep," he proclaimed.

"Aries would cry," Lucy remarked, joining him inside the detestable little house. In the center of the room was a rickety wooden table that was also dyed red, piled high with cruel blades and thick needles and instruments of torture they couldn't even name. Shelves lined the walls, filled with heavy leather-bound books, bottles of warped glass, jars full of eyes and wispy black spirits and liquids and powders of every color and consistency. Gray opened a book and winced at the diagrams inside, bodies cut open neatly numbered and illustrated in dull black ink. He closed it again and set it on the shelf.

"We should get this back to Levy and Bixlow," he decided, looking around. "Let's see what they can make of it."

"How can we take all of this?" Lucy inquired, peering cautiously into a bottle with some sort of worm suspended in yellow jelly. "I don't know if we can even touch some of this stuff."

Gray sighed. "We'll take the books, they're probably important. We can probably manage to take some of the…devices. Whatever's in these jars, we'll catalogue and bring to them. Anything we don't recognize will go in a bag."

"That's a lot of jars," Lucy said wearily, shuddering when one round eye seemed to focus on her from the other side of the glass.

"We'd better get started."

When Lucy turned around, Gray was slipping his shirt over his head. "Hey!" she cried, grabbing the fabric and pulling it back over his chest. "You don't want to _disrobe_ in here! There's no telling what kind of fluids you'll get all over you!"

"Damn, you're right."

Lucy shook her head and pulled a pen and paper from her bag. "You get started on putting stuff in the bags. I'll summon Loke and he'll help me catalogue."

"Yeah, did you tell Loke about this yet?"

"Mmhmm, told him as soon as I found out. He was pretty shocked about it, said he wanted to help in any way he could." Lucy pulled the key from the key ring on her belt. "Open, the Gate of the Lion! Leo!"

Loke appeared in a bright flash of light. He staggered when the stench of the cottage hit him and he saw the carcasses hanging from the ceiling. "What the hell—?"

"We're in the place where Lisanna's soul was taken," Gray explained. He handed Loke a bag. "We need your help. Start putting books and those things on the table in here. Lucy and I are cataloguing what's on the shelves."

Lucy shot the exhibitionist a dirty look before handing him a legal pad and pen, irritated that he'd take advantage of her Spirit's obliviousness, but knowing full well she'd do the same if their roles were reversed. No one wanted to touch the bloody weapons on the table, or the dark manuscripts.

Loke took the bag, still absorbed in the scene around him. "This was where it all went down? This place is…beyond belief. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's disturbing," Lucy agreed.

"Poor Elfman. He had to pull his sister out of this mess."

"Poor Lisanna," Lucy said. She didn't elaborate.

They began cataloguing while Loke gingerly collected paraphernalia, wrinkling his nose at it distastefully. They hadn't gotten very far when Natsu poked his head inside the cottage, scarf wrapped around his sensitive Dragonslayer nose to protect it from the rank decomposition.

"Hey, guys," he called, "you might wanna come look at this."

The three of them followed him outside, grateful for the fresh air. Natsu walked them down to the center of the pasture, where Happy, Elfman, and Erza were standing.

"We couldn't find any sheep," Erza told them, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Either they fled from all the commotion, or the cloaked people came back for them."

"There were only eight carcasses in the cottage," Gray said.

"That's how many were missing according to that bastard Lowell," Elfman rumbled. "The other five must have gotten away."

"Happy and I found something, though," Natsu put in, pulling the scarf off of his face. He pointed a circle in the grass, about the circumference of a hula-hoop, everything inside it dead. There was a ring of black ash on the outside. "These are scattered through the pasture. There are thirteen of them."

"That's where all the people appeared from," Elfman said.

"Yeah, but that's not the weird part," said Natsu.

"I flew up to get a better view of them," Happy explained, "and I saw that they form a perfect circle around the cottage."

"What?" everyone cried, surprised.

Happy nodded. "I think whoever planned this knew what was going to happen, that some mage was going to come knocking on the door of the cottage. That's always where the soul-extraction was to take place."

"My guess is that they were only expecting one mage," Natsu said. "That they were surprised when both of you showed up and didn't really know what to do. I think that if it had just been Lisanna, things could have gotten a lot worse. They could have pulled her inside and put her on that table, done whatever they wanted for as long as they wanted."

Loke clapped a hand on Elfman's shoulder. "You probably saved Lisanna's life, man."

Elfman shoulders shook with little sobs. "It doesn't matter," he sniveled, wiping snot from his nose with the back of his hand. "Lisanna's soul is still missing. I should have been a man and gone to help her."

"You were fighting off eleven other guys," Lucy said. "Lisanna can take care of herself. She's not helpless. The only reason she's even in danger is because she was ambushed. You were both ambushed."

"We're going to find her, Elfman," Natsu declared. "We lost Lisanna once. We aren't going to lose her again."

A single tear fell from the shadow of Elman's brow into the dead grass at their feet.

* * *

Bixlow's hang over was just beginning to subside when, out of the blue, he heard a frustrated screech and something solid and square hit him right on the back of the head with enough force to send his entire upper body crashing onto the counter top of the bar.

Evergreen burst into uncontrollable laughter, loud and out-of-place in the somber guild hall.

He blinked bright stars out of his eyes before he turned and saw a thick leather-bound volume laying open on the floor. His head pulsed angrily, pain radiating from under his hood.

The little bookworm girl came scampering up to him, hands clasped over her mouth in horror. Her wild blue hair was secured in a red bandana, but wiry strands still poked their way out, and her glasses were askew. "Oh, my god," she whispered. "I am so, so sorry. I don't know what came over me, I just—"

Bixlow groaned as he bent down and retrieved the book for her. He handed it back. "You threw this at me?"

"No!" Levy exclaimed, her small hands fidgeting nervously along the book cover. "Well, yes, I mean, I guess I technically did, but not on purpose! I threw it, but not at _you_. I wasn't aiming at anything."

"Good arm," Bixlow commended. His head blared a horn. "Don't worry. I've been hit harder." His babies confirmed the statement.

"Right," Levy said. "Still, I'm sorry."

"Why're you hurlin' books around, anyway?" Bixlow asked curiously. He peeked at the spine, reading the faded gold lettering. "'_Understanding Souls, Ghosts, and Other Spiritual Apparitions: a Manual for Beginners_.'"

"That sounds riveting," Evergreen wheezed sarcastically, recovering from her fit.

Levy huffed. "It's the most useless thing that's ever been printed. It's all about what to do if you think your house is haunted. And everything is either like this or is so advanced that all it does is make me confused. I've never studied seith magic before."

"Y'know, I'm kind of an expert," Bixlow said. His babies agreed, "Expert! Expert!"

"Could you help me?" Levy cried hopefully. "I can't figure out a lot of this positive versus negative energy stuff, and a lot of books are contradicting. Also, they call the same equipment by different names, and there's so many different ways to do things depending on the culture. I don't think I can stomach everything at once."

"Are you sure you'll be able to stomach _him_?" Evergreen said, jabbing a finger in Bixlow's direction.

"I'll help. The old man said to, but I didn't know if you'd need it." Bixlow stood, ignoring his partner, and rubbed the back of his head. "And y'know, for future reference, next time you need to ask me somethin', just come up and ask. Black Steel over there doesn't need to start chuckin' heavy objects at people's heads."

"Yeah," Evergreen agreed. "He could've hit me."

Levy blushed, but she smiled and hugged the book to her chest as she led Bixlow back to her table of books. He thought he saw her give Gajeel a discreet thumb's up.

* * *

The task force finished cataloguing everything in the hut, grabbing anything that they couldn't identify. They also took samples of the dead grass and ash, and wrote down detailed descriptions of the sheep corpses' states of decay.

"I think this is the most thorough detective work we've ever done," Erza remarked.

"And nothing's burnt down yet," Lucy added cheerfully, shooting a sly glance at Gray and Natsu, who were about to rip each other's heads off. Erza followed her gaze and immediately the two rivals were getting along just fine.

"Let's hurry and get this back to the guild," Elfman urged. They began picking their way through the meadows back into town, stopping every once in a while to converse with Lowell's neighbors. None of them claimed to know him very well, and unanimously agreed that he was an unsuspicious little man who kept to his herd quietly. The most helpful information they got was from a plucky ten-year-old boy who'd apparently tried to sneak into the cottage on a dare, only to be chased away by the shepherd.

"I've never been so scared in my life," the boy claimed. "He was, like, frothing at the mouth, running after me with that staff up in the air, telling me that he'd bash my head in if he ever saw me on his land again. Mr. Lowell was always pretty nice to us, let us pet his sheep and stuff. After that he never talked to us again, and he'd yell at us to go away if we went anywhere near his sheep. Said that we'd invaded his privacy, that he couldn't trust us."

"You never tried to sneak another peek inside?" Gray pressed.

The boy shook his head. "No, it really freaked me out. Besides, my parents were super mad about it, made me go back and apologize with a muffin basket. Mr. Lowell wouldn't touch it. Then me and my friends ate it, and my parents got even madder."

"Our son learned his lesson," the mother said, pinching him by the ear. "It shocked me then that Lowell was so worked up about it, but he _is_ old. You know how the elderly are about their homes. He always seemed so…placid, I never figured he'd be into bad business. I never thought a man like him would have anything to hide. Guess I was wrong."

They weren't in high hopes when they brought their findings back to Fairy Tail. Everyone wanted to know how it went, but the task force wasn't prepared to say. They deflected most of the interrogations and went to find Levy.

The solid script mage had her own quadrant in the back of the guild hall, at least three tables piled high with books and papers and scribbles galore. Jet and Droy had long since collapsed from the exhaustion of cheering her on, and laid in a heap on the floor. People were gathered anxiously around Levy, waiting for a spark of inspiration in her brown eyes, but Gajeel's brooding presence in the corner was a sufficient barricade. It kept some of the pressure from her tiny shoulders.

Along with only Jet and Droy, Gajeel seemed to have let Bixlow into the barrier. He sat across the table from Levy, and, although it was clear he wasn't reading a word, every once in a while Levy would look up, ask him a question, and he'd answer it.

They both looked up when Elfman dumped the bags on the nearest empty table. Levy's hand still scratched along the paper, blotting ink over some of her cramped handwriting. "Tell me everything," she demanded.

And they did, reciting their discoveries from the cottage, the pasture, and the neighbors. A crowd had gathered around by the time they were finished, as Gajeel was also too engrossed to maintain his wall of intimidation. Everyone was silent when Natsu, the primary storyteller, trailed off.

"Thirteen," Bixlow muttered, scratching his chin. "That's a lot."

"What do you mean?" Levy asked. Over the course of their partnership, she'd been surprised at the depth of the knowledge he had for his field, and drank up his offhanded comments eagerly. Most of what he'd regurgitated clearly came with experience; seith magic was such a vague topic that many books didn't adequately discuss. Bixlow was very helpful, but he always required a little bit of prodding, guarded like an oyster protecting its pearl. Levy assumed he was just shy—although previously _that_ was never an adjective she would have applied to Bixlow—but Gajeel suspected more accurately that Bixlow's magic was a darker gray than he was willing to admit, and he was carefully avoiding phrases that could possibly incriminate him in the future. The dragonslayer didn't mention his observations to anyone—who was he to judge, anyway?

"Souls aren't stable beings," Bixlow explained, "so they don't like order. They're all about freedom and fleetingness and chaos. That's why when a seith mage…well, I guess you could say we 'employ' the souls—when a seith mage puts the soul in the container, it's always in odd numbers. Three, usually, or five if the mage is pretty powerful."

At this, Bixlow's five dolls each rattled off a number in their tiny voices for elaboration.

"What about thirteen?" Levy insisted.

"That's unheard of," said Bixlow with a shrug. "Groups have managed to control seven souls at once, but never more than that. It's a lot of chaos to deal with. Plus you gotta be careful the souls don't get so organized that they fuse together to make somethin' more dangerous."

"Like a demon?" Gray said wearily.

"Nah, demons subsist on souls, they aren't made up of 'em. But they could create an apparition, kind of like a really big, solid ghost. It's hard to explain." Bixlow shook his head. "But we're gettin' off topic. What I was gonna say is that thirteen is unusual 'cause that's a lot of spiritual power flyin' around. It could get outta control pretty quick."

"But it wasn't thirteen _souls_," Pantherlily, who was seated beside Gajeel at the table in the corner, pointed out. "It was thirteen _mages_."

"Right," Bixlow said, "but they were doin' a soul-extraction ceremony, it sounds like. And that's not easy. It takes serious manpower. Those thirteen mages were dealin' with souls—souls that were extracting Lisanna's from her body. They weren't usin' containers, which is…crazy. That's, like, handlin' uranium with your bare hands crazy."

"Crazy, crazy!" his babies cheered.

"They weren't, though," said Elfman. "They were fighting me."

"Which only added to the chaos, which is what souls feed on," Bixlow explained. "Your fight probably attracted souls for miles. Sure, the work might've been sloppy, but really a soul-extraction ceremony only needs one person to guide it. With one this big, maybe two people. The rest is all generating enough power to do it. Which is why I'm guessin' they had thirteen mages. Still, though, that seems like overkill. For one person, they wouldn't've needed more than five."

"Maybe they were playing it safe," Macao suggested.

Bixlow let out a bark of a laugh. "People like this don't play it safe," he sneered. "Besides, this is the exact opposite. Safe would've been usin' as few people as possible. See, all that chaos, it can get to your head." He tapped the temple of his mask for emphasis. "Thirteen people? Let's say…without containers…they can maybe control three souls at a time, if they're good. And then there's that one person tryin' to guide it to Lisanna, tryin' to find that balance between order and disorder where the souls will do what he wants, but won't organize themselves into something bigger. That's heavy stuff, serious brain-buster. Somethin' that would've screwed up his psyche. I mean, when you control a soul, it's like you're…sharing your senses with it. It's like it's part of you. Think about that, about sharing your brain with that many other things, things that don't even really have complete, coherent thoughts."

"What you're saying is that this person was dispensable," Makarov said. "They burned through his brain and left him for dead."

"Doubt it," Bixlow said. "The ceremony wouldn't've succeeded if the guy's brain was oozin' from his ears by the time it was done. He wouldn't've had the mental capacity to pull through."

Makarov looked up. "So then…?"

"We're dealin' with someone who's already bonkers," Bixlow said, nodding. "Ain't got any sanity to lose."

The guild's eyes shifted collectively toward Bixlow's own babies, but no one said anything.

"I'd say you're dealin' with a cult," he continued. "A big one. Most of those mages'll be wiped out for a couple days, maybe less. Soul extraction, like I said, takes a lot out of you, even if you've got thirteen other mages workin' with you."

"Sounds like you know from experience," Macao remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Bixlow turned to him, frowning. "And if I do?"

"That's illegal, isn't it? Soul extraction?"

"Like you ain't ever done anything sketchy, playboy?"

The babies squeaked the accusation: "Playboy! Playboy!"

"That's enough," said Makarov, stepping between them. "It's time we refocus. This is not the time to get into petty quarrels. Lisanna's soul is missing. Let's find it."

Bixlow shot Macao a tongue-wagging smile before he departed with the others, leaving him and Levy back inside Gajeel's ominous bubble. The bookworm was already diving into the texts Elfman had dumped on her table. When she noticed Bixlow settling down again, she peeked out from over the top, eyes big and brown and inquisitive, like a puppy's.

"What?"

"Have you done it?"

"What?" he repeated, confused.

"Soul-extraction. Have you?"

Levy's eyes weren't critical. They were just curious. _You should read what they say about that, girlie_, he thought, but he offered her the truth anyway.

"Nah. Not from anything living."

Satisfied, Levy nodded and went back to her research.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Levy demanded Bixlow's presence for most of the night. He stayed with the bibliophile, who devoured as much coffee as she did literature, and her Dragonslayer companion, who snoozed in the corner ominously. Finally, Bixlow told her that he was going home, rejected the flurry of questions that had convinced him to stay the last three times, and suggested that she, too, get some rest.

"This," he said, waving his arms around the mountains of books, "can't be good for you."

Gajeel made a noise from the corner, a grunt somewhere between agreement and amusement. Evidently he'd had a similar conversation with Levy before, and was anticipating her reaction to Bixlow's advice.

She just gave him a steely look over the rim of her glasses. "Lisanna's life depends on this. I won't rest until I figure it out," she declared. Then she dismissed him entirely, bidding him a goodnight from behind the pages of a thick manual.

Bixlow's lips pursed into a pout at his reprimand—just how many times were people going to imply that he didn't care about this Lisanna chick?—but even this challenging offense could not convince him to remain at the guild any longer. He was exhausted despite his brief, uncomfortable cat-naps, and probably wouldn't be much help until after a good two or three hours in bed. He decided he'd get up early the next morning to make it up to Levy, or Lisanna, or whoever the hell he was supposed to help.

The morning was bright. Bixlow blinked and sat up in bed. His mask was still on—he couldn't even remember laying down. He must really have been exhausted.

But, nonetheless, he was up early enough for redemption. Of course, Fried was already awake and in the midst of his ablutions—damn him, he was always making a racket at dawn. Bixlow yawned and trudged into the bathroom, where Fried was brushing his teeth. The rune mage looked baffled. "You're up!" he exclaimed as his roommate strode past, pulling the metal mask off of his face and rubbing out the patterns pressed into his cheek.

"Yup," Bixlow replied. He unceremoniously dropped the mask onto the counter and unzipped his pants to urinate. Fried averted his eyes and spit in the sink, evacuating the premises just as the steady yellow stream hit the toilet. The poor kid was such a prude that Bixlow could often invade the bathroom without a word or argument.

They walked to the guild once Bixlow was ready. Fried described his plans to visit Mirajane at Porlyusica's, to "bring her supplies and see how she's holding up." Bixlow rolled his eyes, but refrained from ridicule. Absently, he wondered if Evergreen had comforted Elfman last night. The couple had done their best to keep their fling relatively quiet, but naturally everyone knew. Fried and Bixlow hadn't seen much of their female partner, but then, Bixlow didn't think that Elfman was the kind of guy to look for tactile pleasure in times of despair. He was willing to bet that Evergreen offered and was shot down. He hoped she wasn't prideful enough to scold the poor guy for it.

When they arrived, Cana and Makarov were the only ones in the guild hall besides Levy and her posse. Everyone was gathered around the bookworm, who talked animatedly. She grinned when she spotted Bixlow over Jet's shoulder.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, pointing. Everyone whipped around to look at him. Fried raised his eyebrows.

"Is there something I should know?" he asked. "I don't think I've ever seen a woman so excited to see you."

"Yeah, it's freakin' me out, too," Bixlow murmured back.

Levy hopped off her bar stool and gallivanted over to them, clutching a notebook in her arms, the flock migrating with her. "Thanks to you, I figured out who has Lisanna," she said confidently, shoving the notebook in his face.

Bixlow felt claustrophobic. He took a step back and accepted the notebook, reading her spiral handwriting with some difficulty. "Phasm?" he read, confused. "Who the hell is Phasm?" The babies repeated his question with enthusiasm.

Levy grinned again, like she was hoping he'd ask. "It's a cult," she explained. "More specifically, a cult of at least one hundred followers who worship Spyrodon, one of the demons from the Book of Zeref."

"I've heard of Spyrodon," said Fried, snapping his fingers. "It's the thirteenth demon Zeref created. The Devourer of—"

"—Lost Souls," Levy finished. "It doesn't surprise me that you've heard of it, Fried. Spyrodon was sealed almost immediately after Zeref's demise. It's a very obscure demon, not like Deliora or Lullaby, who hibernated and prevailed for hundreds of years—although, Phasm's motives are probably closer to Erigor's than to Leon's group. Mass destruction. World domination. Et cetera."

"Where'd you find all this information?" Bixlow said, impressed. He'd never heard of any of it.

"All over," Levy replied. "Descriptions in some ancient texts about men in black cloaks who vanished in clouds of ash always appeared near descriptions of Spyrodon. I finally found a name in one of the books Natsu's team brought back. _Phasm_."

"Alright, so we have an idea of who took Lisanna," Cana began, "but how can we find them?"

"I'll admit, that's all deduction," Levy said. "But I'm confident that Phasm is attempting to unleash Spyrodon, and in order to do that I imagine they'll have to fuel him with some pretty powerful souls. That's where Lisanna comes in. Probably the rest of Fairy Tail, too. But why did they target us? My guess is convenience—we're close to where ever Spyrodon is sealed."

"Somewhere near Magnolia," Makarov muttered, scratching his chin, "large enough to conceal a powerful demon. The only place I can think of is—"

"—Mt. Hakobe," Levy said. She unfurled a map, which had a large red circle drawn around the tall mountain. "It's only about a day's journey. It's isolated, and large enough to keep Spyrodon buried for thousands of years."

"You are brilliant," Cana said, smiling.

"Go Levy-chan!" Jet and Droy cheered.

Master Makarov nodded. "Very good. Gajeel, Pantherlily, prepare a cart with supplies. You're accompanying Natsu's group to Mt. Hakobe to retrieve Lisanna's soul, as well as any other sacrifices they may have accumulated."

"Excellent," Gajeel grinned, cracking his knuckles. He patted Levy on the head and strode away, Pantherlily at his heels.

"Master!" Cana snapped. "The entire guild should go. We need to show these Phasm jerks who's boss."

"No. We need people here to protect the guild. Besides, getting so many people up a mountain will do more harm than good. This needs to be a condense mission, stealthy and quick. We'll worry about vengeance later. Now the important thing is finding and retrieving Lisanna's soul."

Cana couldn't argue with his logic. She pursed her lips and slinked away.

"Bixlow," Makarov said, turning to the seith mage. "Would you also like to accompany the task force? They could use your help."

"They won't," Bixlow disagreed. "Just tell 'em to look for colored bottles. That's where all the souls'll be. Other than that, I can't offer any assistance. Besides, Fried and I were just talkin' how Laxus hasn't come back from that mission he took a week ago. I think we should go out and start lookin' for him, get him up to speed and make sure he ain't…well, y'know…in the same situation as Lisanna."

Makarov paled and nodded. Evidently this thought hadn't yet occurred to him. "Right. Yes, that's a good idea."

Fried quirked an eyebrow at Bixlow as the congregation dissipated. "We weren't just discussing Laxus. And you know he wouldn't get taken down by the likes of these Phasm people."

"Still, it ain't a bad idea to go lookin' for him," Bixlow shrugged.

"You know he doesn't like it when we do that."

"Sure he does. It shows how much we care."

"We care, we care!" the babies assured.

"But why did you lie to the Master?" Fried persisted.

"Look, I don't wanna go on some stupid expedition to Mt. Hakobe, okay?" Bixlow growled, plopping down at a table. "It's a lotta climbing, and it's cold, and I don't play well with others."

Fried sighed. "It wouldn't hurt you to make some friends, you know."

"I got plenty of friends."

"Besides the Raijinshuu. And souls don't count."

"Now you're just bein' picky." Bixlow peered at him from behind his mask. "Besides, whoever said we were friends, hm?"

Fried's second sigh was accompanied with an exaggerated eye-roll, but he didn't respond. Their conversation was going nowhere. "Come on, let's go find Evergreen and start looking for Laxus. Unless, of course, you've changed your mind about _that_ friendship as well."

"'Course not. That is, if you're talkin' about Laxus. Me and Evergreen are both too nasty to be friends."

"That's actually one statement I'm inclined to believe."

* * *

They waited for Evergreen outside of Fairy Hills rather than apply to her for admittance, on Bixlow's fervent assertion. He'd had a "bad experience" at Fairy Hills once—no doubt trying to sneak in—and since then lived in terror of ever stepping foot in the place again. Fried's patience was wearing thin by the time she finally emerged in all her green finery.

"What are you two doing out here?" she quipped when she saw them, tossing her hair. "You look like two creepy stalkers."

"We were waiting for you," said Fried, shooting Bixlow a glare. "We're going to go track down Laxus and get him up to speed. Levy apparently found out who's kidnapped Lisanna, and they're looking for more souls. The Master was worried that Laxus might be a target."

"And you _waited_ to tell me this?! Why didn't you just buzz?!"

"We were tryin' to be courteous," Bixlow chimed in. "Givin' you time to put on your face, and whatnot."

"What's that supposed to mean, you imbecile?! Hey, don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you! Come back here!"

Fried had already decided that the best course of action was to visit Mirajane to inquire on Laxus's whereabouts, since the lightning mage neglected to mention—probably purposefully—the location of the mission to any of his teammates. Evergreen and Bixlow were in agreement that this was also an excuse for Fried to check up on the poor barmaid and prey on her emotional vulnerability, an imaginary tactic—or so the rune mage insisted—for which they ruthlessly berated him the entire half-hour walk.

"Would you two just _shut up_?" he hissed as Porlyusica's little hut came into view. His face was glowing red, from embarrassment or anger, his tormenters couldn't tell. "Why do my motives always have to be so vile with you two? Why can't I just innocently want to make sure she's doing okay?"

"Hm," said Evergreen, adjusting her glasses, "someone's awfully defensive, is he not, Bixlow?"

"I'd say. No need to bite our heads off, man, we're just teasin'."

"Teasing, teasing!"

"I liked it better when you two were fighting with each other," Fried huffed, composing himself before he knocked on the witch's door.

The grumpy owner answered. "What do you want?" she said without bothering with pleasantries. Evergreen waved her fan in front of her face haughtily, silently conveying the depth of her disapprobation, but Bixlow grinned languidly at Porlyusica's cut-to-the-chase attitude. He'd always admired her when those piercing red eyes weren't trained on him.

Fried was unfazed. "We've come to speak with Mirajane."

"Of course you are," Porlyusica grumbled, ushering them inside. "Just make it quick. I hate having all this human stink in my house."

They piled in, and she closed the door behind them. The barmaid was stationed beside a bed in the back corner, where her sister lay lifeless under layers of blankets, gauze wrapped tightly around her head. Mirajane's eyes were bloodshot and bruised from lack of sleep. She whirled out of her seat when she saw them, an anxious flurry of maroon skirts and long white tresses.

"Did you find her?" she cried, running to Fried. Her hands fluttered like nervous pale birds around his arms. "What's the news? Please tell me you found something."

Fried gently grasped her elbow to steady her and guided her over to the side of Lisanna's bed. He took a seat across from her on the chair she'd just vacated. He gave her a detailed account of everything she'd missed, from the investigation of the pasture to the expedition to Mt. Hakobe.

"Makarov's assembled a team to find Phasm's lair," he explained. "Natsu, Lucy, Gray, Erza—they're all going. I believe he assigned Gajeel and Pantherlily to the team as well. They'll find her, I'm sure of it."

"What about Elfman?" Mirajane inquired urgently.

The Raijinshuu shared a glance. "We left before he'd received the news," Evergreen admitted. "He didn't get much sleep last night. He was pretty upset about…everything."

"You can't let him go," Mirajane said. "It's the only reason I'm not marching up to the guild right now and joining that task force. I know he'd demand to go, too. I can't bare it if something happened to both of them. Please, just make sure he stays safe."

Evergreen nodded. "We'll do our best."

"We also came here to ask you about Laxus," Bixlow segued. "We ain't seen him since before this whole mess, and we wanna make sure he's okay. D'you got any idea where he went?"

"Laxus…" Mirajane murmured, twirling her hair around her finger. "I think he took a mission in Balsam Town. It wasn't anywhere too far. He said he'd be gone for a couple days."

"He should be on his way back by now," Fried said. "We'll start on our way to Balsam Town. I doubt he's heard about what happened. Thank you, Mira."

"I hope you find him," she said.

Porlyusica, who'd remained a silent fixture against the wall until this point, opened the door and stared all of them down as they filed out of her dwelling. She closed the door behind them with a sigh, leaning her forehead against the wood. "Phasm," she whispered. "I should have guessed when she came to me without a soul. It's just been so long since they've made a move. I thought they were eradicated."

"You've dealt with these people before?" Mirajane exclaimed.

"Briefly, a long time ago," Porlyusica answered, turning around. "Even before I met Makarov. Phasm was trying to locate the resting place of the Devourer of Lost Souls, and it happened to be a town where I'd taken work. They terrorized the place, but eventually a guild stepped in and wiped most of them out. Together with the Rune Knights they captured every member. Or so they thought. I suppose others must have escaped and started an insurgency of their own."

"How powerful are they?"

"The Devourer is one of Zeref's most powerful demons," said Porlyusica. "More so than any of those Fairy Tail has defeated so far. The strength of Phasm, however, is indeterminate. The cult is relatively obsolete—but then, invisible doesn't mean weak. If they're making a move this bold, they've likely found the demon's seal and are confident of their victory."

"They've never fought Fairy Tail," said Mirajane.

"No," Porlyusica said with a small smile. "They haven't."

Mirajane ducked her head, lost in thought. Then she suddenly gasped and shot out of the bed, hand to her chest, eyes wide on her sister. Porlyusica blinked, alarmed. "What?! What is it, child, spit it out!"

Mira reached out and fell to the side of the bed, staring intently at her sister's body. "Lisanna…" she squeaked. "Lisanna, can you hear me?"

"What are you going on about?" the witch growled. She shuffled over and stopped when Mirajane raised a hand. Then, amazingly, she saw it.

The girl's left pinkie finger. It twitched.

* * *

When Lisanna stretched, she could touch the universe. She could stretch for miles and feel every atom around her. The blades of grass cut her, the drifting clouds soothed it like a balm. She could taste and smell the salt in the earth, the sweet honey of pollen riding on the breeze. She could hear the inner thoughts—no, the consciousness—of everything, she could hear every clicking beetle and screeching falcon and the deep, ancient thrum of the trees.

She could hear the others, too—the ones who brushed her, gently caressed her, nudged her like jellyfish, unobtrusive but insistent. Their whispers were soft, words on tiptoe, senseless syllables as scattered as dandelion fluff. Sometimes they welcomed her; other times, they were warnings. Lisanna swam through their cotton crowds and she absorbed them, took little bits, and she could feel them doing the same, pinching off tiny confetti fragments of her. If she resisted, more were drawn by her struggling. So Lisanna stopped resisting. She stopped finding reasons to struggle.

There was energy where Lisanna was going. It was a humming, giant beehive, or that's what it sounded like, felt like, only a thousand times bigger. Then she realized instantly—it was people. Their thoughts were loud shouts in the sky, thunder and lightning that rattled her core. Lisanna wanted to get away, but kept getting sucked back into the current, loosing herself in the vacuum. She tried clinging desperately to something—her name, just her name. But sometimes she couldn't remember what to call herself. Sometimes she didn't even realize there was anything to forget.

She was close to the city when she sensed it—a person right underneath her, so close he blotted out every other presence. Something wiggled inside her. A photograph fell off her shelf, cracking the glass, and she picked it up and recognized the face behind the spider-web fractures. This was someone she knew. The name crept from the crypt of her mind, echoing, and bringing light from the pitch darkness.

_Bixlow_.

His name brought with it a sudden urgency, a need to make his man see her. She couldn't think of why, but she needed this man—Bixlow Bixlow Bixlow—to notice her. She needed something from him. _Help_. She needed his help.

Bixlow. Help. Bixlow. Help. If she could remember those two words, if she could just hold on to that, then maybe things would start making more sense. That chant drove her from the current, made her a nudger, a shover, a propeller—aggressive. She could feel herself draining fast, her resolve was fading, but the mantra drove her forward.

_Bixlow, help_.

* * *

The Raijinshuu weren't looking long for their respected leader before Bixlow threw his hands up in the air and declared he was too tired to continue. "I'm going home to take a nap," he said, babies cheering after him, "Nap! Nap!"

"I don't see why you're tired. Levy's the one who did all the work," Evergreen remarked wryly. "And besides, wasn't it your idea to go looking for Laxus?"

"Hey! I did a lot, okay. I know I ain't the picture of empathy, but I'm freakin' sick of everyone marginalizing my contribution to fixin' this mess," replied Bixlow grumpily. "And it was my idea, but it's not like Laxus is actually in any danger. C'mon—it's _Laxus_. I was just usin' that as an excuse not to go on that expedition."

"Bixlow was at the guild late last night," Fried said in his defense. "And he was up early this morning. Give him a break. We'll continue our way to Balsam, and Bixlow can stay here on the off chance that we miss Laxus. If we don't find him by tomorrow, then we'll start panicking."

"Whatever. We're better off without your complaining, anyway," Evergreen said. She waved her fan. "If you don't mind, drop by the guild and keep an eye on Elfman. I agree with his sister. He shouldn't join that task force."

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

They separated. Bixlow was actually sorry to be rid of them, even Evergreen, but he truly was exhausted. A nap would do him good. He'd stop by the guild first, though, to talk to Elfman. Hopefully the task force would already have departed so he wouldn't even have to worry about it, and no one would could give him beef about joining. Really, he didn't see any reason he should. He barely knew Lisanna, and while she seemed alright, he wasn't about to go freeze his ass off for no good reason when the most qualified team in Fairy Tail was on the case. Plus, they all knew her intimately and were more dedicated to the cause. He'd only get in the way of their warpath.

Bixlow was halfway to the guild when he sensed it. A disturbance in the energy nearby, a blip that even confused his babies, caused them to hesitate. Bixlow squinted, trying to identify it. Souls were harder to see when he wasn't drunk; they were less like the blotch of light after a camera flash and more like an annoying gnat in his periphery. He lifted his mask and activated his Figure Eyes for better clarity.

A big bright soul was hurling toward him in a very uncharacteristic manner, punching right through its passive neighbors and obliterating some of them on the spot. Bixlow let out a noise and ducked out of its path, but not quickly enough. The soul zipped right through his brain, hitting him like a dart between the eyes. He screamed, clutching at his head as the soul's consciousness took over his senses—he tasted strawberries and smelled something floral and felt the bristles of a hairbrush on his scalp. Reeling confusion overwhelmed him as the soul battled his own mind. He screamed words, but he couldn't hear them, and when he finally expelled the weakening thing from his body he was staring at the sky, laying on the grass, and his babies were scattered around him, murmuring softly.

"Bixlow, help, Bixlow, help, Bixlow, help…" they whispered.

Bixlow was gasping for air. He quickly pulled the mask over his face for protection, but it was pointless. The soul had lost its purpose. He picked it out from the ranks by its unusual brightness, quietly meandering away with the other, dimmer souls.

"Bixlow, help," he muttered. That was what he'd screamed—that was the message the soul was so determined to deliver. He'd never seen a soul behave that way. It was either absurdly powerful, or…

…or it was still alive.

How else could it have moved with such violence? Who else would have recognized him? Who else would have known his name, begged him for help? It had to be Lisanna.

Quickly, Bixlow rolled over and fumbled for his bag. He dug around until he found a little black bottle with a rounded bottom—a soul glass, one he always carried in case of emergencies. He scrambled off the ground and chased after Lisanna's bright soul, uncorking the bottle as he went. She was ascending, almost out of his reach, but he jumped and managed to scoop her inside. The soul glass sucked her in. He corked it and exhaled, whistling through his lips.

Bixlow couldn't believe it. Why was her soul just floating around in the atmosphere? The Phasm mages must have messed up the soul-extracting ceremony, lost her soul in the chaos. What luck that they'd crossed paths, that she was cognitive enough to recognize him and pursue him. He held up the bottle and grinned. What would everyone say when he brought her over to the guild, all nice and pretty and wrapped up in a neat little package? Some assembly required, of course, but it was certainly more than anyone else had accomplished. Maybe she'd be grateful enough to buy him a drink or two and agree to a night on the town. Lisanna was a cute one.

Hell, if not, maybe the barmaid would be thankful enough to finally go on a freakin' date with Fried. It would make Bixlow just as happy to have his partner quit mooning over her all the time.

He continued on his journey, fatigue forgotten in light of the recent events. His babies were still woozy from Lisanna's attack, but by the time he was strolling up the cobblestone street they were buzzing with excitement. Bixlow dusted himself off for the big entrance, cleared his throat, made sure his mask was on straight. Then, with a tongue-wagging grin he couldn't resist, he threw open the front door.

The inside of the guild hall was pandemonium. Mages were celebrating left and right, clanking tankards together and singing cheerful tunes. Bixlow blinked, astounded, until his gaze settled on the crowd in the center of it all. His grin drooped like a wilting flower.

The girl was sitting on a table, still in the embrace of her overjoyed sister. The witch had changed her out of her bloodied clothes and replaced them with pajamas that Juvia had thoughtfully dropped off. She was still wearing them, and the gauze around her head. She was also sporting a smile as big and shining as the sun.

Someone clapped Bixlow on the shoulder, jostling him out of his stupor. It was the sandman guy, Max, looking as jubilant as the rest of them. "Isn't it great!" he said. "Lisanna's recovered! She woke up all on her own! I guess those Phasm people weren't as strong as we thought!"

Bixlow nodded slowly as the festivities pulled Max away again. He clenched the soul glass in his fist and hid it in his pocket as he stared at the girl sitting on the table. The girl that turned and waved at him when he caught her blue eye. The girl that was as dim and soulless as she was the night her brother carried her to the guild in his arms.


	6. Chapter Five

_**Author's Note**: Yeah, it's been a while. I'm so busy, lately. I'll try to keep things on track, but I'm afraid I can't make any promises. Crunch time is coming. The crunchiest of crunch times. So there may not be many updates for a while. Fair warning. Again, I apologize. Did I even apologize already? I don't think so. I won't again, since I have already. Crunchy!_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

The door slammed behind Bixlow with a finality that at once startled and terrified him. He closed his eyes and sank to the floor in front of it, touching the bottle strapped around his waist. Lisanna was still in there—he could feel the gentle warmth of her soul leaching through the purple glass. That glass was a source of anxiety for him all evening, anxiety that he kept carefully hidden as he drank and merry-made with the rest of the guild in celebration of Lisanna's remarkable recovery.

"Except she didn't recover," he murmured, clutching the bottle in his hand and holding it out in front of him. Lisanna's body was animated enough. She'd acted normally. Mirajane hadn't noticed anything out of the usual, when Bixlow had goaded Fried into asking. But he knew it wasn't really her. It couldn't be. Even if the soul in the soul glass wasn't Lisanna—although Bixlow was nearly certain it was—Lisanna's body hadn't had a soul in it. It was dark, like a corpse, as empty and hollow as a doll. He didn't know what was in there, but whatever it was, he doubted it was anything good. Creatures who didn't produce light rarely were.

He listened for Fried. The rune mage was uncharacteristically intoxicated, probably in an effort to take advantage of Bixlow's equally uncharacteristic sobriety. For once it was Bixlow dragging Fried home, an observation his partner had slurred more than once during the staggering journey, but Bixlow had been too distracted to reply.

Bixlow didn't hear anything from the next room. Fried was out cold. Quietly he stood and dug around his magic supplies until he found what he was looking for—a delicate porcelain doll with glossy yellow curls and a painted, smiling face. He'd acquired it from a mission years ago, when he'd rescued a girl from a burning building while her village was raided by a nearby dark guild. Her parents had lost her in the confusion, so he'd carried her on his back while he fought the dark mages. After the battle, he helped her find her parents. Later, when the Raijinshuu were providing aid to the villagers, she'd approached him and offered him the doll as a thank you, having noticed that he "collected" dolls. Bixlow hadn't wanted to take it, but she'd insisted. When she tottered back to her family, Bixlow stuck it in his bag and didn't mention it to any of his teammates. The doll was charred and cracked, nearly ruined from the violence, but over the years Bixlow had found time to repair it. He didn't usually collected souvenirs unless there was a funny story behind them, but this one he'd kept safe and hidden in the back of his wardrobe.

He set the doll on his bed and uncorked Lisanna's soul glass. Her soul emerged drowsily, but began to struggle when he nudged it toward the doll. She was still weak from the exertion of earlier, though, because eventually he forced her into it while his babies cheered him on. Nervous the noise might wake Fried, Bixlow sent them into hibernation mode. They flew to the corner of the room and nestled together in a neat stack.

Meanwhile, the doll blinked her blue, glass eyes, thick black lashes casting shadows on her pink cheeks. The eyes focused with unnerving clarity on Bixlow. She lifted herself onto her elbows, looking down at her stiff limbs. Then she turned again to Bixlow, still smiling blankly.

"Lisanna?" Bixlow said, peering at her. "It'll be hard to talk. You don't have a workin' mouth right now. Just try to project your thoughts and I'll be able to hear them."

It took her some time, but eventually she managed to say his name, projecting it into space like his babies did. Only, she had a will that was entirely her own. The babies' souls were dead, so they just mimicked their host. Lisanna was still very much alive.

"Bixlow?" she said again. "It's you. Thank goodness."

"Huh. Never thought I'd hear that from the likes of you," Bixlow joked. "Feel free to say it again, if you want."

Lisanna moved her doll arms, clearly perplexed, although her painted face remained joyous. The doll had no joints aside from her shoulders and hip sockets, and her hands were permanently curled into loose fists. Lisanna looked up, and though her eyes were made of glass, Bixlow could see the turmoil behind them. "What happened to me?"

"That's the million dollar question," said Bixlow, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Why don't you tell me what you remember?"

She thought for a few moments. "I…remember the mission. It all went south really fast. These cloaked men came from nowhere and started attacking us. I went to go save the client…but when I got to the cottage, he was conversing with another cloaked man and they knocked me out. I don't remember much after that. I was flying…and I don't know, it's hard to explain. The last thing I remember was seeing—no, _sensing_—you, and I went for it. I guess you must have realized it was me."

"You went for it, alright," said Bixlow dryly. "You freakin' _possessed_ me."

For a split second, Lisanna looked horrified even behind the happy doll's face. "You mean I'm a _ghost_? I'm _dead_?"

"No! You're a soul. Don't worry, you're still alive. Those cloaked guys, they removed your soul from your body. Elfman carried your body to the guild, and Porlyusica's been takin' care of you. My guess is those guys—we think they're this cult called Phasm—their ritual failed for some reason, went haywire and they didn't catch your soul quick enough. You were left up in the atmosphere, floating around. You're lucky you ran into me, girlie. Otherwise you would've died. Or at least, the other souls would've absorbed all of you. There'd be pieces of you still around, but it wouldn't really be you. Your existence would've been negligible. Eventually, your body would've given out, and then you really would've been dead."

"So my body's okay?" Lisanna inquired. "Porlyusica's taking care of me? And what about Elf-nii and Mira? How are they?"

Bixlow sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Well…it's complicated."

"What do you mean, 'it's complicated'?"

"See, your body was in a coma until just a few hours ago. Then, inexplicably, it…woke up."

"Woke up?" Lisanna repeated. "How could it have woken up? I'm not in there!"

"I know," said Bixlow. "But no one else knows that. And whatever's in there doesn't have a soul, so it's most likely a demon. It could be a harmless poltergeist up to some mischief, or it could be somethin' real nasty. Considerin' the witch's place is probably warded, I didn't wanna take any chances, so I went along with it and brought you here."

"You're telling me that there is a demon in my body, socializing with my brother and my sister and the rest of my nakama, _and_ _you let everyone think it was me_?!"

"What else was I supposed to do?!" Bixlow snapped. "It would've put them in more danger if I'd said anything! The demon could have killed anyone around it before I explained. It could have killed _you_."

Lisanna tried to take a deep breath to calm herself, but naturally the doll had no lungs. Still, she closed her eyes and went through the motions of it, even puffing out her chest and caving it back in. When she opened her eyes, they were piercing. "Well, what do we do now, Bixlow?"

"We need to figure out exactly what's possessing your body," he said. "I don't even know if it's related to Phasm, or just a freak occurrence. Either way, we need to find out. There's a task force headed to Mt. Hakobe, since that's where the bookworm thinks their headquarters are. Maybe they'll find out more."

"Wait, who are these Phasm people?" Lisanna asked.

Bixlow caught her up on the progress of her investigation, including the task force's findings at the scene of the crime. When told that her brother was on the task force headed to the mountain, Lisanna was distraught but not surprised. She didn't seemed worried about any of them—she claimed she had complete faith in their abilities. "I'm more concerned about this thing inside my body," she admitted. "No one knows it's evil. Oh, god. It's sleeping in the same house as Mira right now. What if it does something to her? We have to find a way to warn her!"

"Your sister will be fine," Bixlow assured. "She'll be the first person to notice something's wrong. And she's hella strong, so she'll probably kick that thing's ass before we could even get to it."

"She won't," Lisanna said, shaking her head. "She won't hurt it if it looks like me. And if she notices something wrong and asks about it, then she'll be in danger. She won't see it coming." Lisanna sobbed, covering her raspberry red mouth with her porcelain hands. "Oh, god. She'll die thinking I killed her! Bixlow, we have to do something!"

Bixlow pinched Lisanna's chubby face between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. "I'm workin' on it, alright? There ain't much we _can_ do right now. That demon ain't gonna touch your sister until it thinks it's in danger, and your sister can damn well take care of herself. She fought Fried and she won. That ain't even somethin' I can boast." He released her. "I'd be more worried about myself, if I was you. First of all, you're a defenseless porcelain doll. Second, if that demon does anything to your body, you're toast. You'll be stuck in a container forever. And, worst part, I'll have to be the one who keeps you there."

Lisanna shivered. "Okay, Bixlow. I…I'm trusting you. To help me and my family."

"Tall order," said Bixlow. He stretched. "I'll do more recon tomorrow morning. Right now, I need sleep. You could probably use some rest, too."

"Do souls sleep?"

Bixlow shrugged. "They hibernate."

"How?"

"You won't have any trouble. I'm puttin' you back in the soul glass."

"What? No, you can't! I need to stay—"

"—In the doll?" Bixlow snorted. "What're you gonna do like that, huh? Nothin' useful. It's drainin' my energy keepin' you in there, so just be a good girl and go in the soul glass. I promise I'll talk to you first thing tomorrow morning."

Lisanna narrowed her eyes at the condescension, or at least she would have if her eyelids moved that way. As it was, only her upper lid lowered, giving her a glazed look that was much less effective. "Fine," she huffed, crossing her arms. She looked down at herself while he retrieved the bottle. "Why do you have this thing, anyway?"

"Souvenir," he remarked evasively. "Say goodnight, doll-face."

Bixlow didn't give her the chance. He uncorked the soul glass, and Lisanna was cast back into sweet, pitch oblivion before she could utter another word.

* * *

Bixlow woke up the next morning already breaking promises. As he got dressed, he decided that talking to Lisanna would prove useless unless he gathered more information regarding the body-snatcher situation. So he left her meditating peacefully in the soul glass on his shelf, tucked away in the darkest corner beside the porcelain doll.

He and Fried ate breakfast and made their way to the guild. Bixlow considered letting his friend in on the truth about Lisanna's soul, but decided against it. Fried was bad at bluffing, particularly when he talked to Mirajane, and Bixlow didn't want him to accidentally let something slip and arouse suspicion that could only end badly. If only Laxus was there, then he'd tell everything. Laxus would know exactly what to do—but Laxus was still away on that damned mission in Balsam Town.

That presented yet another problem—the Raijinshuu had agreed that if Laxus hadn't returned by today, they'd begin looking for him more thoroughly. Bixlow wasn't concerned about Laxus—he never was, he'd just needed an excuse not to go on that expedition—but now he didn't see how he could possibly get out of it. Laxus had never described the particulars of his mission, so there was no telling how long it would take to complete. Bixlow couldn't look for Laxus and spy on Lisanna's imposter at the same time. He hoped that, in the excitement of Lisanna's return, Fried and Evergreen would just forget about it.

The guild was already full when Fried and Bixlow arrived. Immediately, they spotted Lisanna—she was seated at the bar surrounded by people who were drilling her on anything she could remember. It didn't seem like she could answer many of their questions.

"The last thing I remember is walking up to the cottage," she was saying as they passed. "There was this huge maple tree. I remember that. But then…it just starts to fade."

Levy, who was actively listening to Lisanna's story, saw Bixlow out of her periphery and, having become accustomed to asking his advice, inquired, "Is amnesia like that normal, Bixlow?"

Everyone's gaze switched to the seith mage in an instant. Lisanna turned to him as well, but in her bright blue stare there was something more than curiosity—there was calculation. Bixlow silently cursed Levy for revealing his specialty so soon. Now, whatever was inside Lisanna's body would be on guard.

"Not sure," he answered gruffly. "This is a weird case, after all."

"Weird, weird!" the babies chirped.

The bookworm looked disappointed, but everyone turned back to Lisanna. She was still focused on Bixlow, though, feigned concern written on her face. "How extensive is the amnesia?" she asked quietly. "Will it get worse, do you think?"

Bixlow narrowed his eyes behind his visor. _She's lookin' for a scapegoat, in case she makes a blunder with someone_, he thought. He wouldn't let her get off that easily. "No, definitely not. You were only gone for a few days, so you probably didn't lose much. Only your most recent memories."

"Oh," she sighed. "That's a relief."

"Bixlow," Makarov interjected, "have you had any luck finding Laxus?"

Again, Bixlow let out a slew of mental curses. "No, not yet," he said.

"We're going out again as soon as Evergreen comes by," Fried added. He pointed over to the entrance. "Speak of the devil, I think that's her now."

Bixlow turned. There was no mistaking Evergreen's haughty emerald figure in the door, carefully positioned so that the light would catch on her hair and glasses while she fluttered her paper fan with poise. She liked to make an entrance, although no one ever really noticed the product of her diligent effort. After the allotted time for discrete admiration, Evergreen stepped into the guild and began walking toward them.

"Is Laxus missing?" Lisanna inquired with some alarm.

"No, but he went on a mission right before your incident and he's yet to return. We just want to make sure he's safe," said Fried.

"Are you two ready?" Evergreen asked. She had her bedazzled green purse on one shoulder, bulging with supplies.

"Ready," said Fried. Bixlow struggled to manufacture an excuse, anything, but he drew a blank, and he knew—with a surprising amount of dismay—that he'd already failed Lisanna. Even if they quickly located Laxus, she'd be furious and disappointed that he'd abandoned her sister and the guild to the whims of whatever was inside her body.

"Wait," said Mirajane. She focused on Bixlow, giving him some hope. "I'm truly sorry to ask, but would you mind staying? This amnesia really has me worried. Is there any way you could…inspect Lisanna? Her soul, I mean, to see if it's damaged or something?"

"Mira, it's alright," Lisanna's imposter said quickly. "I'm fine. I don't need to be inspected. You're just overreacting."

"Nah, it's not a big deal," Bixlow replied. He was unable to suppress a triumphant grin, but he did his best to make it look like a polite, helpful smile. By the expressions of restrained doubt on the sisters' faces, he didn't succeed. "Fried and Evergreen can manage without me, right?"

"Oh, we'll manage alright," Evergreen snorted with glee. "Thanks, Mirajane. You just did us a _huge_ favor. Come on, Fried, let's go before they change their minds."

She took Fried's arm and dragged him away. Mirajane missed the poor guy's stoic, sullen wave, but Bixlow returned it gloatingly.

Lisanna's imposter was beginning to show its anxiety when he turned to look at her. "Can you really inspect my soul?" she asked dubiously.

"Sure," said Bixlow, "but it won't hurt. Pinkie swear." He held out his pinkie for good measure, while the babies chorused, "Won't hurt! Pinkie swear!"

"There's nothing to worry about," Mirajane soothed, putting one hand on Lisanna's shoulder. The imposter bore it, but Bixlow didn't miss the stiff twitch of her shoulder at the contact. Neither did Mirajane. She drew away, looking perplexed.

_Not good_, he thought. _The barmaid's catching on. If she figures out that this isn't really Lisanna, it could be bad for everybody_. Once the imposter was unveiled, there's no telling what it would do. Bixlow still had no idea what it was, or how much power it possessed. He needed to get it away from the guild before it decided its cover was blown.

"We'll do it at my place," he said, nodding toward the door. "I got some equipment we'll need."

"Really, this isn't necessary—"

"Lisanna, I insist," Mirajane said sternly. She ushered the girl away from the bar, gently but firmly nudging her toward the door.

The imposter bit her lip and nodded, letting the barmaid guide her from the guild. Bixlow put a hand on Mirajane's shoulder, stopping her at the entrance. "It'll be easier if it's just us," he whispered.

"What? No, I'm coming with you."

"Your energy will disrupt the process," Bixlow fibbed sloppily. He really didn't want Mirajane coming with them—if he tried to vanquish this thing, Mirajane would use her Satan Soul to stop him. All the imposter would have to do was scream.

"Oh, and your energy doesn't 'disrupt the process'? The energy of those things doesn't?" Mirajane pointed to the babies. "Look, I'm really worried about her, okay? She hasn't been acting herself. I know she's been through a lot, but…it's really worrying me. I have to come with you. She's my sister."

Bixlow squeezed her shoulder. His eyes flashed green behind the slits of his mask, not from his magic, but from the intensity of his message. He dropped his voice to a hiss, knowing that their prolonged conversation was piquing the imposter's interest. "Is she?"

Mirajane's eyes widened with horror. Bixlow shifted his body to keep her from glancing at her sister and ruining everything. He released her and softly pushed her back into the guild. "Well," he said, as though they'd had a perfectly normal conversation. He put his hand on Lisanna's back and shoved her forward. "It'll be an hour, tops."

"An hour, an hour!" the babies cried. "An hour, tops!"


	7. Chapter Six

_**Warning:** This chapter contains some adult themes, violence, and disturbing imagery. Is not for the faint of heart or mind. Or bladder. Especially not for the faint of bladder._

* * *

**Chapter Six**

If Lisanna's imposter hadn't realized that Bixlow knew something was amiss when they left the guild, she certainly realized on the way to his house. Bixlow didn't even bother making conversation with her—he kept one hand clasped around her slender wrist, and his babies formed a slow, revolving circle around her head. They kept to the most deserted route, taking back-alleys and shortcuts where no scrupulous city-dweller would dare approach. Luckily, Bixlow was far from scrupulous, so he knew his way through them well.

The thing in Lisanna's body didn't resist. She walked straight ahead, saying nothing. Bixlow tried to get a read on what exactly it was, but he couldn't sense any aura. He supposed she wasn't too powerful, since she was complying. Maybe she was trying to formulate a plan. Whatever the case, the imposter wasn't confident enough to make a scene in the guild, which meant it probably wasn't a very powerful demon—if it was even a demon at all.

They were almost to Bixlow's house when the imposter finally turned her head and looked at him for the first time. She stared at him a few seconds with a small smirk on her face. "So," she said, "what exactly are you planning to do with me?"

Her voice was velvety smooth, and without innocent obliviousness of her façade as Lisanna. Bixlow was rather relieved that he wouldn't have to bother her into dropping the act. "You'll find out," he replied curtly.

"That's ominous," the imposter chuckled. She turned her attention back to the pavement in front of her.

When they arrived to his house, Bixlow stopped in front of the door. He raised an eyebrow. "Do you need to be invited in?" he asked curiously.

The imposter raised one eyebrow, smiled, and stepped forward, turning the unlocked doorknob and effortlessly stepping inside Bixlow's home. "I'm not a vampire," she said. She didn't bother twisting out of Bixow's grip—she just dragged him inside with her while she looked around. "Nice place," she remarked. "Not as nice as my house, but it's decent. Good layout. Could use some better interior decorating, though."

"I'll take that up with my roommate," said Bixlow. He tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her toward him roughly, twisting her wrist in his grip. The imposter winced, but didn't say anything. "And you don't have a house. You're a parasite."

"Parasite, parasite…" the babies whispered.

"That's not very nice," the imposter simpered.

"I'm not a nice person. Especially to people who trick my friends and steal the bodies of pretty girls." Bixlow grinned. "But you're not even a person, are you? You're just some lowlife demon."

"How can you say that?" Lisanna's imposter said, blinking innocently. "I'm just sick, that's all. My soul was taken from my body. That's got to do something to a person's behavior."

"Cut the crap. Lisanna's soul never got back to her body." Bixlow tapped the metal of his mask. "Special x-ray vision, babe. I can tell. You didn't fool me for a second."

"Didn't fool him!" the babies chirped. "Not for a second!"

"You've just got it all figured out, don't you?"

"Actually, I don't." Bixlow threw the imposter onto the couch, where she landed with a bewildered little cry. The babies pinned her down by her shoulders, making a solid line. Bixlow walked toward her and leaned in, removing his mask so that she could see right into his bright green Figure Eyes. "Before I exorcise you, I want to know one thing: who summoned you here?"

The imposter smiled and shook her head. "Poor, poor human. You think I'm that kind of demon? The one that comes at the beck and call of whatever scum promises me freedom? Yes, I was summoned, but it was long before you were born, long before your precious guild even existed. I'm not an evanescent shadow of a demon, bouncing from realm to realm in search of enough sustenance to feed. I'm not some laboratory experiment, either. I don't need this girl's body. I have my own flesh and blood." Her hand came up and rested on Bixlow's shoulder. The babies weren't holding her down anymore—they were trembling, quaking from the dark power that poured from Lisanna's body. Her blue eyes were now black pits, and her breath carried the sweet stench of rot. Bixlow couldn't bring himself to move—he was hypnotized by her as she lifted her head from the couch, so their noses were so close they touched. "And if there's one thing I've learned from my life," she murmured, trailing one hand down Bixlow's chest, "it's that there's no force more potent than the flesh."

In one sharp movement, she twisted her hand in Bixlow's hair and pulled his lips down on hers so forcefully that their teeth collided. Bixlow crashed down on top of her, struggling to pull away, but Lisanna's body was deceptively strong and the demon worked quickly. Her back came up in an arch and she looped her legs around Bixlow's waist, pressing Lisanna's soft, alluring curves into him while using her weight to keep Bixlow disoriented. She forced his mouth open and before he knew it her tongue was swirling around with his, doing things he'd never even known were possible—and he had an experienced tongue. Bixlow could feel his body overriding his brain, and suddenly his mouth moved automatically with hers, and his hands were gripping instead of shoving, and it was him pressing her into the couch. He felt Lisanna's entire body shudder, and she let out a tremendous moan. Her nails stung deliciously when she raked them across his back—but he couldn't even recall her hands sliding under his shirt, and when that brought clarity back to him for a second, Lisanna did something with her mouth and rotated her hips in a way that lit him on fire.

He was lost. He couldn't think a single coherent thought—his body wasn't even listening to him anymore. His head was spinning, he couldn't breathe, but he couldn't bear the thought of pulling away from her for even a second. Whatever she was doing to him—it was magic.

Then, with creeping horror, Bixlow realized something. Lisanna's tongue was moving in two different directions—at the same time. Like she had two different tongues. And one was growing bigger, coating the inside of his mouth.

Whatever fire Bixlow felt shriveled up inside him as he realized what was happening. He struggled to separate them, but Lisanna's grip was strong. His hands fumbled for her throat, and wrapped around it—Lisanna's hands gripped his shoulders, digging in, but the creature still moved with quick motivation inside Bixlow's mouth, little claws grappling with his tongue. He released her—choking would only kill Lisanna's body. The babies flew at her, knocking her around, but that, too, was useless. Bixlow shut his eyes and chomped down on the creature, biting down on his tongue in the process but gaining a satisfying crunch. Lisanna let out a screech and faltered. Bixlow took the opportunity to throw her off of him and scramble away. He gagged as the thing slipped from his mouth.

Lisanna's imposter was panting on the couch, a brown tentacle with wriggling little legs siding back down her throat. Bixlow thought he would vomit when her lips closed around it and her tongue flicked out, covered in blood. It left a red dash on her bottom lip.

"That was a little more than a playful nibble. You should be careful."

"Too much tongue," Bixlow gurgled. He spit blood—his own, he hoped—from his mouth. His tongue was throbbing, but at least it was still under his own control. His babies raged in long circles around them, preparing for battle. He didn't really want to battle her, though—the demon was safely inside Lisanna's body. He wouldn't do any harm to it unless he could coax it out. "So," he began, "you're a body-snatcher, huh? A wendigo?"

"Good job," the imposter said. She slowly moved from the couch, standing across from him. "Normally I'd just manufacture my own disguise, but I'm doing a special favor that required a bit of possession. You didn't seem to mind."

"Who are you workin' for?"

"I told you, I'm not an indentured servant," the wendigo snapped. "I'm simply doing a favor for a friend of mine. Don't you do favors, human?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Well, I get the feeling you're going to do me a favor right now." She strode up to him sensually, one eyebrow raised. The babies flew in a tighter circle around him, blocking her path. This only made her smile. "You're not going to hurt this body. You can't. This girl, she's too precious to your guild. All your friends, everyone you know and care about, will rise up in mutiny if you flay her. They'll be outraged once they see what harm you've inflicted already. So, I'm going to make you a deal."

"I don't deal with demons," said Bixlow.

Lisanna's eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. "Come now, we both know that's fallacy. And my offer really isn't bad. All I ask is that when we return to the guild, you pretend like you've exorcised whatever spirit you've convinced this girl's sister lives inside her. You don't blow my cover again. In return, I won't kill you. In fact, maybe I'll put in a good word for you with my friend, so you'll have something to fall back on when this world goes to shit. What do you say?" She stuck out her hand.

Bixlow shook his head. "Go to hell."

"Already been there. You might like it. It's toasty." The wendigo dropped her hand and shrugged. "Suit yourself, though. If you want to do this the hard way, we'll do it that way." She took a step back and held out her arms. "I'll even let you take the first shot. If you're going to shoot."

Bixlow only had one option—go for the knockout. He roared and rushed forward, drawing back a fist. In a blur, the wendigo caught his wrist between her two small hands and used his moment to flip him over her back, onto the coffee table where he landed with a groan. She shook her head. "That was pathetic. This is what's wrong with you humans. You're too predictable."

"Right," said Bixlow. Then Pippi zipped into view and crashed into Lisanna's temple, knocking her to the ground. Her body crumpled to the floor like a pale flower. Bixlow stood, groaning as the splinters of the table fell all around him. "You might as well come out," he challenged. "I've got supplies here, I can pry you out myself."

"Pry, pry!" the babies cried.

It didn't take long. Bixlow only saw it coming because he noticed the subtle quiver of Lisanna's spine. Then a smoky black apparition burst from her mouth, screaming as it made for Bixow. The babies met it head-on, and both sides flew back with the force of the impact. The babies flew in every direction, and the wendigo hit the wall, materializing as it scrambled off the ground.

It was an ugly thing, half solid and half not, a medley of graveyard ash and mucous, clicking exoskeleton. Its teeth were long and sharp, riddled with rot, as were the claws and pinchers on its arms. It had a long, slithering tail and its eyes were the dark pits Bixlow had seen in Lisanna's face.

"Congratulations, human," it wheezed. Its voice was dead leaves in the breeze. "You've got me. Now what are you going to do?"

The wendigo didn't give him time to answer. It leapt at him with blinding speed. Bixlow dodged its attack, but it simply rebounded off the wall and came at him again. The babies hit him in a solid line formation, like a baseball bat in the torso. Bixlow waved a hand and they all shot at it like an arrow, further bludgeoning it with their wooden bodies. It screamed and shifted again, changing into its gaseous state. Bixlow cursed and leapt for his metal mask on the ground, hitting shattered remains of the coffee table in a nose-dive. He fumbled for it and put it up to his face just as the wendigo reached him. It screeched, deflected by the enchanted iron, and materialized once more, raking at Bixlow with its claws. He cried out when it got his shoulder. The heavy weight of the wendigo was crushing his legs. The tail came up from behind it and slapped Bixlow's face. His arms wobbled as he tried to keep the wendigo's claws from mauling him.

The babies shot at it and knocked the wendigo away. Bixlow rolled up and ran toward the mantle where two of Fried's rapiers were displayed. He ripped one from its sheath and launched at the wendigo. Then, suddenly, it morphed into the slim form of a woman, refining her features until it was Evergreen standing naked and terrified in front of him. "Please, no!" she screamed, turning her face away as Bixlow brought down the rapier.

Bixlow followed through, slicing the blade through Evergreen's torso. She looked utterly shocked when the thick black blood dripped down her body. She transformed back into the wendigo as she fell to her knees, dying. The black ichor spread onto the carpet in an oily puddle, more blood than any human could ever produce. The wendigo dropped to the floor, letting out a shuddering breath. Bixlow wiped the rapier on his shirt and tossed it away.

"Wrong choice," he told the demon. He squatted down and pressed his hand into the creature's wound, twisting cruelly. "Now, tell me. Are you workin' for Phasm? Where are they? What're they planning?"

"I can't believe you've killed me," the wendigo gurgled. Blood came up from its mouth, splashing onto Bixlow's mask. "I've never met a human who didn't fall for that trick. You…are one unfeeling bastard."

"No," said Bixlow. "You just turned into the wrong person. Evergreen would want me to kill her, if she ever looked so pitiful. Now answer my questions."

"Just know this, human," the wendigo hissed. "You don't stand a chance. Even with me dead, there are no holes in Alastor's scheme."

Bixlow dug in deeper. "Who's Alastor?"

"This world will perish," the wendigo groaned. It breathed its last breath. "It won't be long before I see you in hell."

Bixlow swore when the wendigo went still and crumbled into a pile of dust. He stood up and kicked it furiously, splattering blood and ash across the furniture. It felt so vindicating that he did it again, and again and again, calling the debris a myriad of horrible names. The babies floated above him in silence.

Once his temper was under control, Bixlow drifted over to Lisanna's body. She was also covered in blood and ash, and a purple bruise was blooming on the right side of her face. The pattern continued on her arms and legs, striking against her paleness, all inflicted by Bixlow. He felt a twinge of guilt, but at least her body was an empty vessel. With the wendigo dead, her soul was free to return.

Bixlow cleared the couch of dust and splinters as best he could and picked Lisanna off the ground, setting her down on the blood-stained cushions. There was no cleaning that. Fried would have to purchase new furniture when this was all over. He ordered Pippi to retrieve the soul glass from the shelf in his room. The tiki doll had it balanced on his head, giggling as he made a game of taking sharp, fast turns to get to Bixlow.

"C'mere, you brat," he grumbled, snatching the glass from the baby's flat top. Bixlow looked down at the round bottle pensively. He could feel the warmth and the peace seeping from the soul inside. For a second, he considered leaving her in there, instead of bringing her out to fight in this shit. He'd probably do everyone a favor that way. Her siblings would be eternally grateful, and he didn't think Lisanna would be much help fighting these Phasm people. She didn't have a reputation for being particularly strong.

But he sighed and uncorked the soul glass anyway. Lisanna was the only person who wouldn't appreciate his intervention, and while she wasn't a strong mage, the unadulterated wrath of a Fairy Tail woman could kill on basic principle.

Her soul glided freely into the air, hovering for just a moment before her beating heart called it forth. Bixlow watched the soft, glowing wisp submerge itself into her bruised flesh, spreading through her veins and bones until her dim gray skin was alive with gentle pink light. Her blue eyes fluttered open, and her face contorted into a wince when she felt all the aches and pains her body had sustained under its possession. She sat up, blinking, taking in her surroundings, until finally her gaze landed on Bixlow with some surprise.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," he greeted smugly.

Lisanna stretched her sore muscles, raising her hands into the air and wiggling her fingers and toes to test them out. "You didn't kiss me to wake me up, did you?" she laughed. Her voice was hoarse.

Bixlow was glad his mask was on, because he felt his face blanch when he recalled his debauchery with Lisanna's body while the wendigo was inside. He decided he wouldn't mention it. "You wish," he said as smoothly as possible, but it came out a bit gargled from the gag reflex the memory triggered.

Lisanna smacked her arms down on the cushions of the couch, raising little puffs of ash. She looked around at the destroyed room. "What happened in here?"

"I tricked the demon into comin' with me," Bixlow said. "You were possessed by a wendigo. A body-snatcher, shape-shifter thing. Don't worry, I slayed it."

"Slay, slay!" the babies mocked.

Lisanna raised her eyebrows. "Impressive."

"We're not out of the woods yet, though," he continued darkly. "It was workin' for Phasm. In particular, someone named Alastor. Ring a bell?" Lisanna shook her head. "I didn't think so. It didn't give me much information. Just went on about the end of the world and shit."

"We need to tell the others what's happened," Lisanna said, standing. Her legs wobbled under her and she stumbled, catching herself on Bixlow's shoulders. She steadied herself, still hanging on to him as she lifted one foot and then the other. "Sorry, I'll have to get used to having a body again. I feel so heavy, like I'm walking around in a rubber suit."

Bixlow grinned a tongue-wagging grin. "Don't mind me. Take as long as you'd like."

She gave him a look and let go, taking a few small, tentative steps. "We need to warn the others," she insisted after a few seconds.

"Not a good idea," Bixlow said, shaking his head.

"What? Why?"

"Somethin' the wendigo said didn't sit right with me. 'Even with me dead, there are no holes in Alastor's scheme.' I don't think it was just possessin' you to deflect attention from Phasm. I think it was here to collect souls. And I think there's more than one."

Lisanna frowned. "You mean…"

"Someone else in Fairy Tail might be possessed."

"But…everyone had their souls, right?"

"Doesn't mean nothin'. Not everyone's there when I'm there."

Lisanna frowned. "Can we at least warn Mira? And what about Elfman, and the others on the task force? They have no idea what's going on."

"I don't think we should tell anyone," Bixlow said sternly. "Your sister already suspects somethin's up. She'll be on guard. But there's no tellin' who's possessed, or what's possessin' them. Wendigos aren't the only things that can crawl into people's bodies, and they're not the nastiest, either."

Lisanna shuddered. She sighed and steeled herself, jutting out her chin stubbornly. "Then we need to go to Mt. Hakobe and help the others."

"…Come again?"

"We need to help the task force fight Phasm," Lisanna repeated. "They don't know what they're up against. They need your help, and I'm coming with you."

"They don't need shit," Bixlow argued. "I already gave them all the information I could. The ol' geezer sent the cream of the freakin' crop up there. They'll be fine."

"Cream of the crop!" the babies squealed. "Fine, fine!"

"My brother is up there on that mountain, and so are some of my best friends," Lisanna hissed, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "They are my nakama. They have no idea what's going on and they need your help, Bixlow. I need your help and you _promised_ you'd help me."

"Yeah, that I'd help you get your body back, _which I did_," Bixlow said. "I ducked out of that task force to help you get your body back, in fact, so in a way it's your fault that I'm not up there in the first place. How d'you feel about that?"

"You're lying!" Lisanna cried. "You told me the task force left before I even ran into you! They were already gone when you found out the wendigo was possessing me!"

"…Yeah, that was a cheap shot, wasn't it?"

"You know what, I don't need you," Lisanna huffed, pushing past him. "I don't need a lying, inconsiderate jerk with me. I'm going to go talk to my sister, and then we are going to go help my brother. Because you know what? That's what family _does_. They protect each other." She put her hand on the door knob and froze. "…Thank you," she mumbled reluctantly, "for helping me get my body back."

Then she opened the door and walked out.

Bixlow stood in the middle of his destroyed living room, absolutely stunned. He heaved a sigh and glanced around him at his babies, who were quiet with expectation. "I know," he groaned, shuffling toward the door. "We're gonna help her, dammit. Stop givin' me those looks."

He opened the door, half hoping she'd already transformed into a bird and flown off, but she was there waiting on the porch. They stared at one another for a moment, silently negotiating, until Bixlow sighed and dragged a hand across his face, smearing blood and sweat under his mask. Lisanna offered him a small, proud smile as she stepped back inside.

"I knew you had a heart in there somewhere," she said. She poked his chest when she passed, right where the wendigo had clawed him. Her touch stung like a knife, but Bixlow didn't say a word.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Lisanna had never appreciated a shower so much.

The demon's blood rolled off her body and ran into the drain in thin inky rivers. It had a sweet smell, like rotting fruit. Lisanna scrubbed her skin until there was no gray caught in the iridescent soap suds. She didn't want the thing near her body anymore.

She turned the water off and dried her skin with a faded green towel that had a blue stain on the corner. Lisanna wondered if it was from Bixlow dying his hair. She tried to step out of the bath tub and tripped over the lip, letting out a little shriek before she caught herself on the towel rack. The shampoo bottle toppled over the edge, onto the tile floor, with a loud plastic clatter.

"Okay in there?" Bixlow called from outside. "I meant it when I warned you not to fall in."

"I'm fine," Lisanna replied, blushing. Her body was heavy and cumbersome after her time as a weightless soul soaring across the sky. She was never graceful to begin with, not like Mirajane, who seemed to glide effortlessly wherever she went. Years of bumping into Natsu and horseplay with Elfman had somehow conditioned her body into clumsiness. This whole experience had only made it so much worse.

"You sure? I can come in there and help if you need it," said Bixlow cheekily. His babies cheered, "Help, help, we can help!"

Lisanna rolled her eyes and kept one hand on the towel rack as she stepped out of the tub, wiggling her toes when they met the cold, damp tile. She dried her short white hair with the towel vigorously before picking at some of Evergreen's old clothes, a fuzzy, light green sweater and dark green pants. They were the least gaudy things she could find in the pile Evergreen kept stashed at her teammates' place, in case she wanted to crash. At least they fit relatively well.

Bixlow was at the door. "Is that a no?"

Lisanna opened it, letting steam billow out. It fogged up Bixlow's metal mask. The cold of the hallway made Lisanna's face throb. The whole right side of her face was purple, and her eye was a bit swollen from the contusion. There were other bruises all over her body, but the one on her face hurt the most. Despite it, Bixlow grinned at her lecherously.

"You didn't say no," he said.

"Your offer didn't even warrant a response," Lisanna retorted.

His grin remained. "Is that any way to speak to the man who made you lunch?"

"You made me lunch?"

"Yeah, there's a sandwich for you in the kitchen. Eat as much as you can, 'cause there's only so much food we can carry. I packed while you were showering. Everything's ready to go, as soon as I wash up." He plucked the towel from her grasp and nudged her from the bathroom, taking her place in the threshold. The babies followed him. Bixlow had washed his hands earlier, but he was still rather filthy. He grinned at her again. "Feel like another shower? I'll share."

Lisanna just gave him a look.

"Suit yourself." He shrugged and closed the door, shutting out the babies' chatter.

Lisanna combed her fingers through her hair as she meandered toward the kitchen. The living room was still in disarray, blood and dust and pieces of furniture all scattered around. She stepped over it, trying not to soil her clean feet. The kitchen was still intact, although Bixlow's supposed sandwich was just the ingredients spread out on the counter. Lisanna shook her head and spread mayonnaise on the bread, piling on cold cuts, cheese, lettuce, and tomato. She listened to the shower water running while she ate, and tried not to think about it too much.

Lisanna was devouring a second sandwich when Bixlow emerged from the bathroom. She nearly choked when he walked toward her and she realized that he was wrapped in only a towel.

"What are you doing?!" she coughed, beating her chest with her fist. She noticed a little red first aid kit in his hands, which he dropped on the table in front of her before pulling up a chair and sitting down. Lisanna focused on his dripping hair, and not his smug face, or bare muscular chest, or the dark gap of the towel between his spread knees.

"Sorry to make you _uncomfortable_," he snorted, "but if you'd fuckin' look at me, you'll notice I sustained some fairly severe injuries while battling a powerful demon to restore your soul to your body. It's the least you can do to patch me up."

Lisanna noticed the gash on his left shoulder and chest. She blinked and set her sandwich down. "Oh. Why didn't you just say so?"

"I thought it was implied." He gestured to the medical supplies.

She blushed and opened the kit. "Well, it wasn't."

"Then what was?"

Lisanna didn't respond. She dabbed the blood from Bixlow's chest and administered the antibacterial salve, wrinkling her nose at the harsh herbal scent, then wrapped it up in bandages. Bixlow turned around so she could do the same to the smaller lacerations on his back. Under his modest clothes, Bixlow was extremely toned, his skin firm and tan under Lisanna's fingers. There were scars, too, pale and jagged. Not many, but enough to suggest a background of battle. Bixlow must take a lot of violent missions, to sustain the kind of damage he did. "There," she said as she stuck on the last bandage, "you're all healed."

"Marvelous. I like a nurse who blushes when she ogles."

"I wasn't ogling," Lisanna protested, but she quickly looked down anyway. She noticed the blue stain on the towel. "Hey, did you use my towel?"

"Actually, it's my towel, but yes, I used the same towel as you."

"Wha—that's disgusting! Why didn't you get your own?"

"This is my own."

"You know what I meant."

"I can take it off, if that's what you really want."

"That's not—we shouldn't even argue about this, we're wasting time! Go get dressed so we can leave!" Lisanna snapped.

"Bossy, much," Bixlow muttered, but he got up and left anyway, his babies murmuring the accusation at her until he disappeared into his bedroom. Lisanna narrowed her eyes and finished her sandwich, putting all the food away after she was done.

Bixlow was fully dressed, mask and all, when she knocked and opened the cracked door. He paused what he was doing and made a grand gesture toward himself. "This more to your liking, m'lady?"

"Excuse me for asking a man I hardly know to put on clothes," Lisanna said dryly. She stepped inside. "Are we ready to go?"

"Just about. Here, you'll need this." He threw a thick coat at her. Lisanna put it on, and it was three sizes too big. Before she could say anything, he tossed her thick socks, gloves, and her pack. "You'll need that to stay warm. Don't put it all on yet, wait 'til we get up to the mountain."

"Right." Lisanna picked up her pack. It was heavy and bulging, but not too much. She imagined that, if they had trouble finding Phasm headquarters, she'd want it heavier.

Bixlow slung his own pack over his shoulders. The babies were jittery around him, excited for the adventure. "Let's go," he said, "before anyone comes lookin' for us."

Bixlow had sent one of his babies with a message and arranged for a carriage to meet them at his house. The driver was a middle-aged man with a balding head and an impressive mustache. His face sagged when he caught sight of the tiki dolls. "You got more? Those things are annoying, you know that?"

"Thanks for the tip, Mr. Congeniality," Bixlow said with false cheer. He slapped money in the driver's open palm. "To Mt. Hakobe."

Lisanna and Bixlow and all the babies climbed into the back of the carriage, and the driver took off. Outside the carriage, Magnolia was bustling with lunchtime traffic, but inside was quiet. Bixlow leaned back against the wall, arms crossed and, for all Lisanna knew, eyes closed, dozing. She didn't want to wake him, but the silence was grating on her frazzled nerves. After a few minutes of picking at a loose thread on the rolled up sleeve of her borrowed coat, she asked who it belonged to, since it was much too large for Evergreen, and much too small for Bixlow.

"Fried's," Bixlow answered immediately. "I know it's kinda thin, but it's got runes sewn in. It'll keep you warm."

"Wow, that's handy."

"Yeah, he's useful when he's not droolin' after your sister."

Lisanna giggled. "I _thought_ he liked her. Mira's fond of him, too, but she won't ask him out on a date for some reason. I think she secretly likes to watch him squirm."

"That is pretty entertaining, ain't it?"

"Yeah." Lisanna sighed, looking earnestly up at Bixlow's slouching form. "So…can you tell me what to expect? When we get to Mt. Hakobe, I mean."

"You never been up the mountain?"

"No."

Bixlow frowned. "It's pretty dangerous up there. There're a few Vulcans, which you gotta watch out for, 'cause they're body-snatchers, too. They absorb your body into theirs and feed off your energy and life force. They're not too hard to fight, though, so don't worry about 'em too much. We might get high enough to see a blizzardvern, too, but they're herbivores and don't usually attack unless you threaten them or their nests. They look scary as hell, though, like huge white flyin' lizards. The biggest threat is the cold. Keep wrapped up at all times, you got that? Frostbite'll sneak up on you and then you'll be short a few toes. The matches and blankets are all in your pack, so don't get it wet."

"Right," said Lisanna. "And what about Phasm's lair?"

"Honestly, I got no idea what to expect," Bixlow admitted. "It'll probably be in the caves, deep in the mountain. Our best bet is to find the task force and see what they've come up with."

Lisanna nodded with determination, digesting the information. "How many times have you climbed the mountain?" she asked curiously. "You seem to know a lot about it."

"Enough times," Bixlow said vaguely.

Lisanna wanted to press, but something in Bixlow's overtly casual body language stopped her. It was almost as though he was trying hard to keep himself relaxed. She dropped the topic, and let her eyes wander until they rested on the packs.

"What else did you bring?" she inquired.

"Blankets, food, matches, canteens, kindling, spare socks and gloves," Bixlow listed off. "That's what's in yours, anyway. I got mostly magic supplies in mine, soul glasses and whatnot. Just in case, y'know?"

"Just in case!" the babies chirped.

"Wait, I have all the survival gear, and you've just got magic stuff?" Lisanna said. "What if we get separated?"

"Simple," answered Bixlow. "We don't."

That effectively extinguished the conversation. Lisanna sunk into the quiet, mulling it over. The packs didn't look particularly large, so Bixlow must not have planned on remaining more than a few days on the mountain. She wondered what they'd do if they ran out of supplies before they found her brother and the others, but she knew the answer and didn't bother to ask. They'd turn back. Bixlow would insist on it, and there's nothing Lisanna could say that would change his mind. She wouldn't survive foraging on the mountain without him, and they both knew it.

Lisanna wondered what her siblings were doing. Was Elfman cozy in a cave, roasting a winter rabbit over a fire with Natsu and Lucy? Or was he clinging to a cliff by his beast arm, calling over the howling wind for Erza's rescue? It was only a day or two since their departure—had they found Phasm's lair already? Were they still searching in the storm?

At least her sister's status was shrouded in less mystery. Mirajane was probably behind the bar at the guild, serving beers to the early afternoon crowd. _And worrying about me_, Lisanna thought guiltily. She wished she could have somehow told her sister that she was okay. When Mira came looking for her and discovered the mess, there's no telling what she might think. There was also the supposed infiltration in the guild. Mirajane would never suspect anyone of treachery. Lisanna hoped that she kept her guard up, and wouldn't let thoughts of her younger siblings distract her.

"Yo." Bixlow snapped his fingers in front of her, breaking her reverie. "You alright over there, dollface? The atmosphere's gettin' kinda low."

"Low, low, low!" the babies echoed.

"I'm fine," Lisanna ensured. "Just…worried, that's all. About Elfman and Mira."

"Ah." Bixlow leaned back again. "Don't worry too much. Like I said, we'll find your brother, and the barmaid's got skills. She's not in as much danger as you and me, that's for sure."

Lisanna lifted an eyebrow. "I hate to say it, but that's not exactly reassuring."

"You'll probably be alright," Bixlow amended thoughtfully. "But your brother's gonna kill me when he sees I brought you up here."

Lisanna considered. "Probably," she agreed.

"Now look who's givin' great pep talks," Bixlow drawled. He leaned his head on the wall. "I'd get some rest while I can, if I were you. It'll be cold and loud up there in the wind, and we'll have to take watch shifts. The driver'll let us know when we get there."

Lisanna nodded and curled up on the bench, resting her head on her arm. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend like she was rocking gently on a ship, sailing to an island where she could tan and swim and laugh with her family, instead of in a carriage rolling up a mountain to save them.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Mira," Fried said as they walked down the bustling Magnolia street, "if Bixlow told you he'd take care of it, then he's taken care of it. I know he seems inconsiderate and unreliable, but it's only for the little things. He knows when to take things seriously. I'm willing to bet that Lisanna's resting or something."

"I know," said Mirajane, "but she's my sister. I'm just worried about her. I haven't seen either of them since this morning, and Bixlow promised it wouldn't take more than an hour. She was acting so strangely…" She sighed and glanced back at her other escorts. Fried and Evergreen had arrived at the guild with Laxus shortly before Mirajane closed it up, finally tracking him down somewhere between Magnolia and Balsam Town. They were perplexed when Mira asked them if they'd seen Bixlow, and, once she'd explained that Bixlow had taken Lisanna to inspect her soul for damage, they agreed to bring her to his house. Fried seemed eager enough, but Evergreen was a bit put out—although her presence was quite unnecessary—and, as usual, Laxus was unreadable.

He spoke up for the first time since they set out for Fried's house. "Maybe he romanced her and they're making out," he suggested.

"Disgusting," Evergreen scoffed.

"I have to admit, that doesn't make me feel any better," Mirajane said. She frowned. "Does Bixlow even date? I've never seen him with a woman before, and he's always so…bizarre. No offense."

"Bixlow's actually pretty popular with women, believe it or not," Fried answered. "He hardly ever dates them, though. He gets bored too easily. I think his longest relationship lasted two weeks."

"No, no, he was with that girl with the piercings for at least a month," Laxus interjected.

Fried snapped his fingers. "That's right. Lydia. He told me they only stayed together that long because he kept finding new piercings every time they—" He cut himself off and peeped uneasily at Mirajane, a red flush crawling up his neck. "Well. That's not really important, I suppose. You have nothing to worry about, in respect to your sister. Bixlow will flirt with Fairy Tail women, but he won't actually pursue them."

"Why not?" Mirajane inquired curiously.

"Because," said Laxus, "you all scare the ever-loving shit out of him."

"Not to mention Lisanna's hardly his type," Evergreen put in. She offered Mira a smile. "Trust me, that's a compliment."

"Right," Mira giggled. Although it was somewhat at her sister's expense, she liked seeing the playful camaraderie amongst the Raijinshuu. They'd opened up with the rest of the guild since the Fantasia parade debacle, but they still struggled to display this degree of familiarity around the others. You had to pay attention to them to notice it.

Besides, Bixlow was by far the most mysterious of the foursome, and this was very juicy information they were feeding her. Mirajane catalogued it away in her mind for later.

The little house was quiet when they finally arrived. All the lights were off. Fried frowned and unconsciously placed his hand on the hilt of his rapier as they neared the door. It was locked.

"He usually keeps this damn thing unlocked. I'm always getting on to him about it," Fried murmured apprehensively, digging around in his pocket for the keys. They glinted silver in the evening light, flashing in Mira's eye when he twisted them around and the lock clicked.

"Maybe he listened to you for once," Mirajane suggested.

Evergreen snorted.

Fried opened the door and gasped, unsheathing the rapier halfway out of pure instinct. The group stood in the threshold and stared wide-eyed at the interior of the house. It was entirely destroyed—there were giant, body-sized holes in the walls, the remains of an obliterated coffee table scattered around, and, worst of all, deep splashes of blood coating every surface. Mirajane cried out and covered her mouth with her hands, vision blurring the gruesome scene.

Fried tentatively stepped inside, drawing the rest of his blade. Evergreen approached behind him, guarding his flank, while Laxus lagged behind and waited for Mirajane to move forward. The horror only accumulated in her chest as she entered the nightmare, curling up into a tight little ball between her lungs.

"Bixlow!" Fried called. His voice was loud in the silent house. "Lisanna! Are you in here?"

There was no response. Evergreen looked down at her feet when something stirred softly beneath them. She tapped Fried's shoulder and gestured at the fine black powder. "Ash," she said heavily.

Mirajane followed their gazes and saw her feet were covered in it. "Like the pasture where Lisanna was originally attacked," she whispered. "There was ash there, too. Oh god…"

"Stay strong, Mira," Fried said. "We'll find them."

They divided into pairs and searched the house, but found no sign of Bixlow, Lisanna, or any perpetrators. Fried reported that most of Bixlow's magical paraphernalia was missing, though, and showed them a porcelain doll he'd found on one of the shelves instead. There was also a first-aid kit set neatly on the kitchen table, and some of Bixlow's clothes in the trash, sliced up and bloody, along with some soiled gauze.

"It looks like he fought something," Fried deduced. "He's injured, but not badly. That blood in the living room isn't human—I'm willing to bet that whatever it was, he killed it."

"He hinted that Lisanna was an imposter," Mirajane muttered, twisting at a lock of her long white hair. "Right before he took her. It was the only reason I stayed behind. I knew that if there was something possessing Lisanna's body, I wouldn't be able to watch him…" She drew a shuttering breath and squared her shoulders. "We need to find them. It's clear that Bixlow packed up and left, but why? And did he take Lisanna with him, or…?"

"Bixlow wouldn't kill Lisanna, if that's what you're getting at," Evergreen said bluntly. "If she was possessed, he would have done everything to get it out of her, but he wouldn't have killed her or hurt her too badly."

"If they fled, it was probably for good reason," Laxus agreed.

"Is it possible that Phasm came back and took Lisanna again?" Fried proposed. "It would explain all the ash, and why they're both missing. Maybe, somehow, Bixlow killing Lisanna's imposter triggered them to come and take her, and Bixlow decided to track them. Or maybe there was no imposter, and it was just Phasm that showed up, fought Bixlow, and took Lisanna."

"But why Lisanna? Why my sister?" Mirajane cried.

"I don't know," Fried sighed. "But I think it's time we alert the Master."

"Good idea. Gramps will know what to do," Laxus said.

They began walking toward the door. Mirajane felt it a split second before it happened, just a slight raising of the hairs on the back of her neck, just the tiniest charge in the air. She had time to take a breath before the bolt of lightning shot up from the ground, engulfing her, Fried, and Evergreen in electricity. That breath became a piercing scream, joining the shrieks of agony on either side of her. It lasted until they stopped making noise, until their muscles went completely rigid from the voltage. It was only then that he released them, and they fell like bricks to the ground.

The ringing in Mirajane's ears was deafening. She couldn't focus her eyes. She glimpsed Fried's hand curled into a tight, twitching fist, the carcass of a paper fan releasing a thin wisp of white smoke. A leather boot, stomping on the glass from a broken plate. The steel toe sailing toward her cheek, slowly rotating her head.

Speckled white ceiling.

A wicked, scarred smile.

The porcelain doll with blonde curls and blue eyes, staring benevolently down at her from its perch on the table.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Bixlow's eyes popped open when the carriage stopped. He blinked and stretched the stiffness from his arms and shoulders. Usually he preferred walking or riding the train to his destinations during missions, but of course there wasn't time for hiking Mt. Hakobe, and the terrain was too rough and desolate for a railroad. Lisanna was curled on the bench in front of him, snuggled into Fried's oversized coat. The babies nudged her awake. She sat up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Her white hair was sticking up on one side, like dandelion fluff. Bixlow grinned.

"You might wanna fix that," he said, pretending to run his fingers through his hair. Lisanna scowled groggily, but took his advice and smoothed it down the best she could.

"Are we here?" she yawned.

The doors at the back of the carriage flew open, letting in the howling mountain wind. Lisanna shrieked and clutched Fried's coat around herself, frantically buttoning it against the chill. Even Bixlow felt the cold seeping through his thick layers. He touched his mask, grateful for Fried's temperature-regulating runes.

"Yeah," he yelled over the wind. "I think we're here."

They gathered their things and hopped out of the carriage, paying the driver. He bid them a fair journey and climbed back into the vehicle. Lisanna and Bixlow watched it roll down the mountain morosely.

Bixlow was the first to look away from it, glancing up the tall peak of the mountain. The wind was picking up, taking flurries with it. The snow was ankle deep. The weather wasn't great, and it seemed to be getting worse. "Well," he said, "I guess we better get going."

Lisanna followed his gaze and nodded.

They hiked through the snow without conversation. It was too loud to talk. Bixlow wished he remembered to find a hat for Lisanna—her short hair was flying in all directions, exposing her ears and neck to the elements. Despite Fried's enchanted coat, she was shivering. He unwound the scarf from around his own neck and handed it to her. "Put this around your head," he advised, "so your ears don't fall off."

Lisanna nodded and took it, tying it around her flickering hair like a matron. Combined with her white hair and hobbling gait, anyone who saw her from behind would have confused her for an old woman. The thought amused Bixlow, but he didn't share it.

As they climbed, they looked for any signs of human life. It wasn't until the air began to grow thin that they found something—the soft white powder of an avalanche, caused by the destruction of the mountain above. Huge chunks of the rock were cleaved away, and some of the forestry was burned.

"The Salamander?" Bixlow asked.

"Looks like it," Lisanna said. She was concerned. "They were attacked. What if they were taken?"

"I guess we'll have to save their asses," Bixlow said. He grinned and clapped his hands, rubbing them together eagerly. "Man, none of 'em are ever gonna live this down." The babies giggled hysterically at the thought of the task force's humiliation.

"Bixlow! This isn't funny! What if they're seriously injured? What if they're being tortured? I don't know if we can defeat the people who captured Erza or Natsu or Gajeel! Not by ourselves!"

"Well, there's nothin' else _to_ do," Bixlow responded. "We can't go get back-up. Look, we'll do s'more recon, but if they are in trouble, it's up to us."

He tensed suddenly and wheeled around to scan the fallen snow from the avalanche. The babies surrounded them, spinning in a slow circle. Lisanna narrowed her eyes and followed suit, searching the blankness. She'd heard it, too—the soft crunch of ice.

The avalanche snow exploded with a roar, and three giant blue Vulcans came clobbering toward them deliriously. The babies shot toward the alpha, hitting the ape in the center of his broad chest. He flew back into his comrades, but one of them ducked out of the way and continued barreling toward them. Lisanna shot out from behind Bixlow with surprising speed and met it head-on, scratching it with her tiger-claws as she dodged its tackle. Bixlow turned his attention back to the other two, which were done grappling with each other. He sent the babies after the alpha and grabbed the smaller one in a head-lock while it was distracted. The Vulcan snarled and tried to shake him off. Bixlow fumbled until his hands were finally in place, and with a sharp jerk of his arms broke the beast's neck. They collapsed into the snow, Bixlow panting from the effort. The dead Vulcan disintegrated, but there were only bones inside of him. Whatever body it had possessed was long out of juice.

The alpha growled and knocked the babies aside, running toward Bixlow at full force. He scrambled out of the way, and the Vulcan slid, turning back. The babies hit him in the chest again, sending him flying. The alpha struggled to get up, but finally fell into the snow and died. It, too, was full of long-degraded human remains.

Bixlow turned to help Lisanna, but her Vulcan was defeated as well. The possessed body was a little fresher, with wrinkled flesh still intact and a few breaths left in his lungs. Lisanna knelt down beside him and held the old man's trembling hand. Bixlow hurried over, but by the time he made it, the old man was staring vacantly into the pale gray sky. He was sliced up from Lisanna's claws, which were now hands covered in blood. When she looked up, tears were sliding down her cheeks.

"I didn't know the Vulcans took over bodies like this," she whispered. She looked down at the old man again. "He sustained all the same wounds."

"He was probably about to die, either way," Bixlow said. "That's why they were so violent. They were almost out of nourishment. The other two were just bags of bones. I'm sure that his death wasn't due to you. You were just defending yourself."

"I know," said Lisanna. "He thanked me for freeing him. But his last moment was still spent in pain because of me." She cleaned her hands in the snow, then slid them back into her gloves and wiped her cheeks. Bixlow bent and closed the man's eyes. Lisanna remained knelt by the corpse.

"We need to go," he told her.

"Bixlow," she said, standing up. "What if their bodies are taken over by Vulcans?"

He didn't have to ask who 'they' were. "I doubt it," he said. "They can handle Vulcans."

"What if Phasm takes their souls first? Then just disposes of their bodies on the mountain?"

"They wouldn't risk it. Vulcans are probably a problem for them too. No, they'd just kill 'em and leave it at that."

Lisanna didn't seem reassured. She looked down at the old man's body again.

"C'mon," Bixlow said, grabbing her by the elbow. "Let's get out of here."

"I got blood on Fried's coat," she said as they hiked away from the carnage.

"He'll get a new one."

They climbed for several miles, looking for more signs of the task force. The sky was growing steadily darker, and the wind was picking up. Snow began to fall, softly at first, but more persistently as night encroached upon them. Along their path, they crossed a narrow cave in the mountainside. Bixlow stopped in front of it, peering in. It was getting too dark to see, but he couldn't sense anything coming from inside, and there were no glowing souls aside from those gentle blobs of the drifting dead. Then again, that didn't mean much—the worst creatures were as dark as coffins to Bixlow's special eyes.

"We should stop here," he suggested. He sent the babies into the cave to ensure it wasn't the den of something nefarious. "It's getting dark, and the temperature's gonna drop real low pretty soon. We'll need a fire, and some food and rest."

Lisanna's eyes said she wanted to argue, but it was clear that Bixlow was right. She nodded and followed him inside the cave when the babies confirmed it was empty.

It was blissfully quiet and dry inside. Bixlow dug a light lacrima from his bag and started a fire while Lisanna unpacked food and blankets. The warm orange light was comforting, and although the fire was cautiously feeble, it provided enough heat to sooth their aching hands and feet. They silently consumed the sandwiches Bixlow packed, and melted snow for drinking water. The crackling of the flames was the only noise. Lisanna stared at the fire with her face nuzzled sullenly behind Bixlow's scarf. It almost reminded him of the Salamander, when the dragonslayer pouted after Cosplay Queen rebuffed him for breaching some posh social convention. Bixlow wondered if Lisanna was thinking about the Salamander while she gazed into the fire, if she was worrying about him along with her brother. They were good friends, after all. Bixlow, though, he wasn't really worried about anyone—the task force was made of solid mages, and he knew the Raijinshuu could take care of themselves.

"I can't see your eyes," Lisanna muttered, breaking his reverie, "but I think you're staring at me. I can feel it."

"Don't flatter yourself," Bixlow retorted. He hadn't intentionally stared. "I was scanning the perimeter."

Lisanna glanced over at him finally. The firelight reflected off her hair and eyes, making her look like gleaming yellow gold. "Will you tell me what you're thinking about?" she asked.

"That's the beauty of bein' a guy," Bixlow said, throwing his arms behind his head as he leaned against the cave wall. "I don't gotta be thinkin' about somethin' all the time."

"But you're thinking about something now."

"I was thinkin' that the perimeter looks clear."

Lisanna turned back to the fire. "Not much of a thought."

"Really? Would you rather me not be on look out, while you're busy thinkin' _profound_ thoughts? I could mope about those Vulcans I killed if you want, or twiddle my thumbs worryin' about Fried and Evergreen. That way, if we get attacked by the demonic cult inhabiting the mountain, at least we'll die knowing that our thoughts were sufficiently philosophical."

Lisanna recoiled, visibly affronted by the harsh tirade, and sunk deeper into the scarf to hide her hurt. Bixlow had expected a riposte. Somehow, her silence only upset him more, and made his words sour on his tongue. He wouldn't apologize—the thought didn't even occur to him. Regret wasn't in his nature. He simply sat still in the brittle air, afraid it would shatter if he moved.

"I'm sorry," Lisanna whispered, and with a dejected slide of her shoulders the tension melted away. She didn't offer any excuses and she didn't expect anything in return. Her sincerity restored the quiet from before. Begrudgingly, Bixlow respected her for it.

"Get some sleep. I'll take first watch," he said. That was the best she was getting. Lisanna seemed to understand, and crawled into her sleeping bag without another word. It took a while for her breathing to slow down to a believable slumber.

The fire was dying, and cold was slowly creeping into the cave when Bixlow heard the noise. It was a nearly undetectable crunch of snow, dismissible in the blizzard. Bixlow stood and crawled over to Lisanna. He put a hand over her mouth and shook her, keeping her silent with a finger to his lips when she jumped up. He pointed to the cave opening where the babies were hovering, and she nodded, eyes wide. They crouched in the darkness for several minutes, prepared to defend themselves against an attack. Finally, Bixlow relaxed his stance and stood.

"Thought I heard somethin'," he whispered. He ducked down and began gathering supplies, stuffing them into a pack. "Could've been a false alarm. We should still get movin' though, just in case."

Lisanna got up and began helping him. They almost had everything packed when they heard the crunch again, this time clearly a footstep in the snow. Lisanna gasped and turned around, morphing into her tiger form. Bixlow and the babies tensed up, waiting.

A figure entered the cave, wrapped in layers of fur, a bright sword in hand. Her scarlet braid was tucked into her scarf, and puffy earmuffs protected her ears from the cold. Lisanna relaxed and grinned.

"Erza!" she exclaimed, stepping forward.

Bixlow yelled and yanked Lisanna out of the way as the Titania's sword came down in a silent silver arc, slicing the air where Lisanna's head was moments before. Pain shot up his arm when it landed awkwardly on the cold stone floor. The babies rammed into Erza, knocking her into the wall. Bixlow grabbed Lisanna by the arm and hauled her off the ground, roughly shoving her out of the cave. "_Go!_" he roared, scrambling behind her. He felt a stabbing in his chest when Erza obliterated Peppe and Puppu—he had no other containers for them, and had to release them into the atmosphere.

The freezing mountain wind hit them like a brick wall. Flurries pelted them like small slivers of glass, sharp and cold on their faces. There was no time for caution—they stumbled blindly down the mountain, grabbing fistfuls of rock and ice to keep from sliding out of control. Bixlow knew they didn't stand a chance against the Titania, even when her body wasn't soulless and possessed. Their only option was to run.

He looked back. Erza was behind them, but catching up quickly, almost skating on the slopes. The babies were doing their best to detain her, but she effortlessly parried them. Bixlow gritted his teeth. There was only one way they would lose her.

Bixlow sped up and tackled Lisanna, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around her. The babies sped into the air and crashed back down into the mountain above them, creating a sonic force that vibrated the entire rock slope.

Tons of thick powdery snow slid down like frozen thunder. He watched it sweep Erza into its white embrace, and then braced himself for the impact. Lisanna suddenly shoved him away from her, and right before his eyes she transformed into a giant white bird. She grabbed him with her talons and soared into the storm, pumping her wings furiously against the howling wind and Bixlow's weight. The avalanche absorbed more of the mountainside, making it impossible to see anything. The babies took some of Bixlow's weight, but they still bobbed on the wind like a cork in the sea, struggling to find a safe place to land. The snow tugged at them, overtaking them, a great white wave. Finally it became too much for Lisanna's body to handle. She screamed as the avalanche took them, whisking them back down the mountain from which they'd come.

Bixlow couldn't breathe or feel. The cold numbed his lungs, his skin, his mind. It was a matter of survival. He didn't remember much, just a sudden stillness after it was all over. He thought he was dead in the darkness. Then he heard something—that crunch again, more persistent, nearby. Above him. Then the light blinded him, and his babies hovered anxiously over him. Bixlow groaned and sat up, testing his limbs. He was certainly bruised, and his wound from earlier might have opened again, but nothing was broken and after a few tries he could walk. He sighed when he took stock of the tiki dolls—Pappa, Pippi, and Poppo. They were the only three that remained.

Bixlow looked around, but he couldn't find Lisanna in the snow next to him. He called her name, and the babies joined in. They dug in the snow, but she was gone.

He began walking, scanning the smooth white snow for any glimmer of a soul, any sign of her body. The snow began to thin out, revealing more and more ice underneath his feet. Finally he screeched to a stop, real fear creeping into his blood for the first time since his battle with the wendigo. "Shit," he whispered.

He was standing right on top of a frozen lake.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Author's Note:**_ Hi guys! Sorry for the long wait, but I think the chapter will make up for it (it's a longer one). Also, I feel obligated to warn you that this one does get pretty *ahem* saucy. Obviously not anything explicit, of course, because it's me, but just so you know. It's there. Don't laugh. So...onward?_

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

First, her wings lost their grip on the wind. Then, her talons lost their grip on Bixlow.

The blizzard hurled Lisanna away from the clutches of the avalanche just after the snow engulfed Bixlow. She tried to regain her momentum, but the wind was too strong. It pushed her down, down, down the side of the mountain. She saw the ice closing in on her, closed her eyes, and tried to transform before she hit it—but not quickly enough. She was feathers, skin, and scales when the world shattered around her and erupted in cold, dark agony.

That cold was the first sensation Lisanna felt when she could finally feel again. It was a deep cold that weighed down her bones, but it wasn't the dead numbing cold of the lake waters. Throbbing pain accompanied the chill, spreading from her head to her back and legs. The cold helped a bit, but it still felt like someone beat her with an iron bar. Perhaps someone had. She was dry, and alive—maybe Phasm found her in the lake.

Next she felt the whisper of hands rubbing and kneading warmth back into her skin, the scratch of fabric all around her. Someone was holding her tight. She felt hot breath on her head—"I'm doin' the best I can, stop naggin' me, s'not like you got any hands to help…"

Lisanna opened her eyes. There was skin and bloody gauze in her line of vision, hidden in the shadow of a blanket. She was naked but for her underwear, which was damp and cold. Her feet were tucked under a leg that was also bare, and slightly hairy. She was curled in someone's lap, her knees tucked into her chest and her hands positioned at her core. Someone was rubbing the blanket vigorously all over her body. Lisanna looked up, and was nearly poked in the eye by Bixlow's chin.

"Good, you're finally awake," he said. He stopped what he was doing for a second and grabbed her shoulders, preventing her knee-jerk reaction of trying to push him away. It was a feeble struggle—she was shivering too violently to put up much of a fight. "Relax," Bixlow commanded as he contained her. "Look, you fell into a frozen lake. I'm tryin' to save your life, here, alright? Scout's honor, I ain't doin' this for kicks."

"Wh-why are w-we b-b-both n-naked?" Lisanna stuttered, using her knees as leverage to pry them apart. The blanket flapped around them, letting it little bursts of freezing air. Bixlow scowled and crushed her into his chest until she stopped fighting and could do nothing but look up at him. He was shivering too, though not as dramatically as Lisanna.

"We ain't naked," he said. "I left our underwear on, 'cause I knew you'd freak out otherwise. Even though your lady parts are probably ice cold. But I guess that ain't much different from usual, is it?"

Lisanna blushed and tried to hit him, but her hands wouldn't cooperate. She couldn't even move her fingers.

"Anyway," he continued, "this is the best way to exchange body heat. I had a blanket in my pack that was relatively dry. All your stuff is gone. I'm rubbin' all over you for friction, 'cause if you know anything about physics, you know that friction causes heat, which is somethin' you kind of need right now. So don't worry, I'm just tryin' to save your body parts." He paused and let that sink in. Lisanna contemplated his explanation for a moment and nodded. She smirked and pressed her hands into his abdomen, earning a satisfying wince.

"You're n-not doing a very g-g-good job on my f-fingers," she said.

"I was more concerned about your organs," Bixlow replied. He began rubbing the blanket along her back again. "You can warm up your hands and feet on your own. Just rub 'em together in the blanket."

"Blanket, blanket!" the babies whispered.

Lisanna fumbled with the blanket, silently kneading feeling back into her appendages. A fire, bigger than the one from earlier, crackled dangerously close to them. Her wet clothes were laid out beside it. "Is th-that safe?" she asked.

"If you're dead from hypothermia, it won't matter if Phasm finds us. Besides, your clothes have to dry somehow," Bixlow said. His hands trailed up to her neck and scratched around her ears and scalp, mussing her frozen hair. Lisanna swatted him away, annoyed by his trademark tongue-wagging grin. He went back to rubbing her arms, and Lisanna let her tired eyes close. She rested her head on his shoulder, unable to force herself to feel uncomfortable with his naked proximity. He was too warm for that.

"What happened?" she asked after some time. Her shivering was receding, and although her limbs were on fire, she could remarkably still feel every finger and toe.

"Dunno if you caught on, but the Titania was possessed by somethin'," Bixlow explained. "She didn't have a soul. That's why I told you to run. I knew we'd lose in a fight against her—I've never been able to beat her in a duel, so there was no tellin' what would happen if she was actually tryin' to kill us. I already lost two of the babies in the fight. I had them create an avalanche, and my plan was to grab you and hope for the best. Then you transformed into that bird thing—kudos to that."

"It w-wasn't enough," Lisanna said. "I still dropped you."

"We _were_ in the middle of a blizzard. Nothin' to beat yourself up about. Anyway, we got separated, the avalanche took me away. The babies dug me up, and then we went lookin' for you. I found you in the lake, where you must've fallen and cracked the ice. The babies went under and got you out, then I brought you to this cave and here we are." His hands slid down her back, too slowly to produce any friction. "You're bruised up pretty bad. Lucky you didn't break your spine."

Lisanna reasoned her spine was probably all over the place when she'd hit the ice, since she'd been in the middle of transforming, but she didn't say that. She let the silence continue, listening to the crackle of the fire and Bixlow's breathing. The scent of his skin was comforting, and it warmed her nose. His shoulder was peppered with slim pink scars and freckles that spoke of time in the sun. Lisanna touched the scars lightly with her cold fingertips, and marveled at the contrast her smooth pale skin made with his.

"Did you get these f-fighting?" she asked, tracing the scars. They didn't seem like they were made by a lethal weapon. They were too skinny and shallow. If they were any finer, she might have mistaken them for hair. That's how frequent they were. Upon closer inspection, she realized they ran down his arm and his back.

"You could say that," Bixlow answered. His voice was a deep rumble next to her ear. She looked up at him, and tried to meet his gaze behind the mask. She thought she saw a flash of green in the darkness of the slats, but she wasn't sure.

"Tell me."

"Ain't nothin' to tell. You had it right—I got 'em fighting."

"Y-you're a liar," she accused. "Why won't you tell? Why d-do you have to be such a mystery to everybody?"

"My business is my business," Bixlow growled. "I ain't tryin' to be mysterious. Everybody's just fuckin' nosy."

Lisanna swallowed the disappointment and rested her head on his shoulder again. Her hands slipped, folding into each other on her lap. Her muscles were still shivering, but they were finally beginning to relax. Her aches were emerging from the numbness—the throbbing of her back, the soreness of her muscles. Other aches inside her, too, were surfacing—the ache for the safety of her siblings, the hurt of Bixlow's sharp tongue.

"We're not trying to be rude," she said into the crook of his neck. "We just want to know you, that's all. We just want to get to know you." Lisanna closed her eyes. "But I guess it doesn't matter. You're our nakama, you're part of Fairy Tail, and that's all that matters. You're right—your past is your business. I won't bother you about it anymore."

Bixlow's hands paused, one poised on each of Lisanna's legs. After she stopped talking, his fingers slid one by one from behind the blanket and brushed her skin. Lisanna opened her eyes again and looked up at him, to see if his tongue-wagging grin was out, to see if it was a diversion or joke. But his mouth was a serious, straight line, so uncharacteristic on his face, and when Lisanna didn't object, his hands began roaming up the way they'd come, tracing the contours of her hips, lightly skimming over her back, flowing over her shoulders, until finally he gripped her hair and tilted her face back. Lisanna met his stare, blinking at him with her blue eyes while her heart raced in her chest. Then, just when she was sure that he wasn't going to kiss her, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. It was a fleeting butterfly kiss, lasting no more than a second before Bixlow pulled back. Lisanna trembled. She leaned after him for another, but his fingers in her hair held her head back. He was thinking about something, that much was clear, but Lisanna couldn't tell what. She felt foolish all of a sudden, mouth half open and eyes half closed, restrained only by Bixlow's hands in her hair. They were on a mission. They were saving the guild, the town, possibly the world—they'd almost just died thrice within a day—her family and friends were in grave danger of being possessed by demons—she'd just gotten her own body back from a demon—

Whatever thoughts that were holding Bixlow back evidently gave in, because his hands fingers slipped from her hair and their mouths collided. Lisanna closed her eyes with a sigh. Her hands found his stomach and ran up the firm muscles of his abdomen, just feeling it out with her fingertips. With one hand Bixlow cupped her chin and deepened the kiss, while the other ran down her back and pressed her into him. His tongue lapped her upper lip and slid into her mouth, teasing around the space. The cold metal of his mask was digging into Lisanna's cheek, so she reached around his head and unlatched it. It hit the rock with a clatter. The sound jarred them—they broke apart with a gasp and frantically looked around the cave until their eyes rested on the mask wobbling on the ground. Lisanna breathed a sigh of relief and shook her head, getting ready to smile and remark on their paranoia to Bixlow. He was looking intensely at the mask, though, and Lisanna could see the other half of that contemplative expression he'd had earlier. Eyebrows drawn together, eyes dark with cloudy thoughts, sharp tattooed nose slightly wrinkled.

Lisanna didn't like it. She touched his cheek, and before she knew what she was doing they were kissing again, lips moving together at a more urgent speed. Bixlow's hands wandered down her body again, getting caught in the blanket. It wasn't the slightest bit cold inside it, now—whenever they moved, a warm wave of air wafted up from it. Lisanna wasn't cold anymore either. Bixlow's hands gripped her thighs and hoisted her onto his lap. He gripped her by the waist and pressed her close. Lisanna's breath caught as he guided her hips against him. She certainly wasn't cold anymore—she burned. Bixlow made a guttural sound in the back of his throat and leaned back against the cold cave wall, pulling Lisanna with him. He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, planting kisses along her throat, her clavicle, her breasts. She drew herself forward, closer, let out an involuntary keen when he nipped at her neck. Their breath came out heavy and panting, letting out clouds of steam in the air. Bixlow bit her chin and then her bottom lip, then hungrily crashed into her mouth. Lisanna clawed his shoulders with her nails, ran her hand down his arms, across his chest, anywhere she could touch him. She pressed him harder into the cave wall, smiling against his lips when it solicited a moan in the back of his throat. His hands gripped her hair and clutched her closer. They slid down her body and wrapped entirely around her waist, taking control of her movements. A cry of pleasure escaped from her when he unexpectedly jerked her forward, almost entering her.

Suddenly, Bixlow cursed and recoiled. He shoved her away from him and pressed his palms into his eyes. Lisanna hit the ground hard and pain erupted down her back, taking her breath away. She gasped at the cold air and wrapped her arms around herself as the gusts blew over her exposed skin. The blanket was draped across Bixlow's shoulder and bundled in his lap. Lisanna gaped at him as he rubbed his eyes. Tears blurred her own vision. She swallowed the lump in her throat and crawled over to her clothes. They were still damp from the frozen lake, but she didn't care. She'd rather get hypothermia than sit on the cold cave floor in her underwear for another second. She turned her back to Bixlow as she got dressed, not letting him see her tears. She wiped them away with the sleeves of Fried's coat, which was still stained with Vulcan's blood even after its dip in the lake. Her heart was still pounding.

"Shit," Bixlow swore. Lisanna could hear the scrape of metal as he picked up his mask. "That wasn't…I didn't mean to—"

Lisanna wasn't ready for his excuses. She stood up and walked deeper into the cave, refusing to look at him until she'd pulled herself together. Lisanna knew there was no cause for her to feel manipulated and stupid—not to mention utterly confused—but that didn't stop the flood of emotions from running their course through her body. The shock of Bixlow's abrupt rejection combined with everything else—everything that was more important, everything on which she should have just remained focused—it wore her down.

The cave was silent for a while. Lisanna heard Bixlow get dressed, but she didn't turn around even after the noise stopped. She watched her shadow do a horrible jerky dance on the rocks of the cave wall, like a purple puppet.

"My Figure Eyes are hard to control," Bixlow muttered from behind her. "That's why I wear the mask all the time. Usually it's not a big deal. On a normal day it's easy. But when I get drunk, or I get distracted, like during sex, sometimes it gets away from me. I panicked. I didn't want you to think I was tryin' to…" He sighed. "I didn't mean to push you down like that."

"It's okay," Lisanna whispered. "I understand. Magic is hard to control sometimes. I understand better than anybody." She remembered that day so many years ago, Elfman's rampage, his big red eyes looking down at her without recognition, his giant lizard claw swooping down and knocking the breath out of her, hurling her far, far away, into that distant world. Edolas. Lisanna took a deep breath and wiped her eyes one last time. "We should stay focused on this mission, anyway. We can't afford to be distracted while Erza and the others are wandering around, possessed by demons." She kicked a pebble into the wall, watched it disappear into the rocks.

There was a blunt pause. "Right," Bixlow said.

Lisanna frowned, and took a step forward. She looked for the little pebble among the rocks, but she couldn't find it. The pebble wasn't just camouflaged—it had _really_ disappeared.

"What is it?" Bixlow stood up and walked over.

"I…I don't know," Lisanna said. She edged toward the wall and pressed her hand against it, but didn't meet any resistance—her fingers just sank right through the rock. She blinked. "It's an illusion. That means…"

"This must be an entrance," Bixlow finished. He grinned his trademark grin. "You just found the entrance to Phasm's lair."

Lisanna turned and grinned back. Her stomach did a little flip, and she blushed vividly, quickly looking away. _That was a bad idea_, she thought, reflecting on their intimacy only minutes ago in the cave. They'd have to put it from their minds if they were going to save the guild. She steeled herself and turned around, this time meeting Bixlow's gaze head-on. "Let's get a move on, then. We've got a world to save."

"I think that's putting it a bit melodramatically," he responded. Lisanna rolled her eyes and made to shove past him to put out the fire and collect their belongings, but Bixlow grabbed her arm as she passed by and turned her around to look at him. "I got them when I was a kid," he told her. "The scars, I mean. I grew up travelin' with a circus, and whenever we got in trouble the animal tamer would whip us with his switch. Me'n the other kids."

Lisanna gaped at him. Then she smiled. "A circus, huh? I should've known."

"You'd've fit right in," Bixlow countered. He let her go and whistled. The three remaining babies levitated into the air. Lisanna stamped out the fire while Bixlow gathered the supplies. He dug a light lacrima from the bag and activated it, then tied it to one of the babies with a piece of twine. "Popo, lead the way."

"Aye-aye, cap'n!" the babies chirped. The one with the light lacrima went first. When it passed the barrier, the cave went dark. One by one, the other two followed it. Lisanna took a deep breath.

"Ready?" Bixlow asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Lisanna replied.

Together, they stepped through the barrier and into Phasm's lair.

* * *

Makarov was reading on his sofa by the light of a lamp when he heard the knocking at his door. He set the papers aside—a brief summary of the information on Phasm and Spyrodon that Levy had kindly provided—and rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn. He glanced at the clock ticking on the wall—it was nearly midnight. Who would visit him at this ungodly hour?

He opened the door to find his grandson slouched in the shadow of the porch, watching a moth circle the light. "Laxus? This better be important. You know better than to disturb an old man when he's sleeping."

"We both know you weren't sleeping," Laxus replied. "It is important. Bad news. About…" He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You should probably let me inside. It's going to take a while to explain."

Makarov narrowed his eyes. Something felt wrong. "What is it?"

"I don't want to say out here in the open."

"Rest assured, the entirety of my house is warded against eavesdroppers," Makarov said. He crossed his arms. "What is it?"

Laxus ran a hand through his yellow shock of hair. "It's Bixlow. He…he's taken Lisanna."

"_What?_" Makarov balked. "What do you mean, he's taken her? Taken her where?"

"We don't know. According to Mirajane, Lisanna was complaining of all these side effects from her coma—amnesia, headaches, the like. Bixlow offered to check out her soul, see if she was all there, you know? But he said he had to take her to his house to do it. Said he didn't have the right equipment at the guild."

"I've never heard of that," Makarov said. "I know that Bixlow can see people's souls inside their bodies, but…can he really assess the state that the soul is in?"

Laxus shrugged. "That's what he claimed, but he did say he needed equipment. I don't know what he meant by that. Anyway, he told Mirajane it wouldn't take long, but he never came back. She got worried, so Fried and Ever and I took her to their house. When we got there, everything was wrecked, and there was blood all over the place. Lisanna and Bixlow were nowhere to be found."

Makarov gaped at him, absorbing the information. He ran through all the scenarios in his mind, and none of them were good. "Phasm must have attacked them and taken them both," he decided. "That means…the task force. What's happened to the task force?"

"I thought that, too," Laxus said. "Until we found…something strange. In Bixlow's room."

"What do you mean by strange?"

"We found specimens. Demon specimens and spirit specimens, all kept in these glass containers. There was a girl's doll, too. And…" Laxus closed his eyes. "Lisanna's clothes. They were all torn to shreds."

Makarov was stunned into silence. He could understand why a seith mage of Bixlow's caliber would collect spirit specimens, but demons? Demons were strictly forbidden by the Council. Any tomfoolery with demonic entities was black magic, and punishable by life in prison. He didn't even know what to make of the doll, or the clothes. As queer as Bixlow was, Makarov couldn't imagine him partaking in such dark voodoo, or committing violent atrocities like Laxus implied on his fellow mages. _Don't forget Fantasia_, a voice whispered in Makarov's head. Laxus had orchestrated that, though, not Bixlow, and the seith mage had seemed to genuinely regret his actions. All of the Raijinshuu had changed after Laxus's expulsion.

"It doesn't make sense," Makarov murmured, scratching his chin. "Why would Bixlow do any of that? He's a good kid. He's rambunctious and weird, but he's always been a good kid since he joined."

Makarov remembered it vividly. The summer night was sweltering when he came across the boy huddled under the sheltered bus stop. He was on his way home from something—he couldn't remember what—but he recalled that it was the quiet part of town by the canal, the romantic spot where young love blossomed like the window-box gardens in the spring. Makarov had originally thought the despondent little boy was waiting for his date, and had gotten stood-up. That's why he'd gone over to talk to him.

As Makarov neared, however, he realized this wasn't the case. The boy was sobbing into his hands, lean muscles quaking with the effort. He wasn't wearing a shirt, so Makarov could see the inflamed red lacerations all over his back. They looked days old.

There was blood on the boy's hands.

Makarov slowed to a stop and reached out a hand to touch the boy's shoulder. Then he retracted it, and pressed it to his chest as he cleared his throat instead. "Child?"

The boy gasped and scrambled away from Makarov, cowering in the corner like a caged animal. There was a turgid black brand on the bridge of his nose and forehead, the shape of a man with his hands raised in the air. It reminded Makarov of the little paper figures Ivan was so fond of. The boy's eyes were wide and reeling with terror, his face streaked with bloody fingerprints. Makarov had never seen a creature so frightened.

"Get away!" the boy shrieked. "Get _away_!"

Makarov raised his hands in the air, but he didn't move. "It's alright," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. Please, will you tell me your name?"

The boy closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. Makarov took a step forward. "Listen, child. I can help you. Tell me what's wrong. Where did all this blood come from? Are you injured?"

"_I said get away from me!_" The boy's eyes flashed brilliant green, and Makarov felt his body move of its own accord, his feet backing away so rapidly that they tripped over themselves and he fell to the ground. He was too discombobulated to immediately recover, but when he could finally move he sat up and stared in disbelief at the poor boy, who'd gone back to sobbing into his hands. "I'm sorry," he kept saying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Makarov said. He stood up. "Look, I'm fine. No harm done."

"Just…just stay away from me," the boy whispered. He shuddered and curled up into a ball, burying his face into his knees. "I can't control it. Stay away."

"You _can_ control it," Makarov said sternly. "It's magic. Seith magic, I think. I'll have to get a second opinion."

"It's a _curse_," the boy wailed.

"It's _magic_," Makarov said again. "If anything, it's a gift. All you need is some proper training and you'll be able to control it." He took a step forward. "I'm the master of a guild here in town. Fairy Tail, have you heard of it?"

The boy nodded, still refusing to emerge. But he was only sniffling now.

"Good. Then you know we're pretty powerful. We've got plenty of strong mages to teach you how to control your magic. Come join us, child."

"I can't," the boy said. "I'll hurt someone. They won't like me. I can get inside their heads, make them do stuff they don't want to. No one will trust me."

"You're right. Trust is earned, not given. But I tell you what, I will personally train you until I think you can control it well enough to join the guild. Until then, here." Makarov undid the tie around his neck and set it on the bench next to the boy. The kid peered at it from under his arm quizzically, and glanced at Makarov for a split second before hiding again. "Tie that around your eyes," Makarov explained. "I'll guide you to my home. It's only a block away."

"Creepy old geezer," the boy accused.

Makarov made a face. "Look, you don't have to. I'm just trying to help. I'm offering you training, and a roof over your head, and food. You look like you could use all of those things. I'll take you to a healer for your injuries, too, if you'd like. She's the best in the business."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," Makarov shrugged. "I don't trust you. But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to help a troubled soul. And I think you should accept that help."

The boy contemplated it for a while. Then, his trembling, bloody hand reached out and took the tie. Makarov smiled as the boy blindfolded himself. When he was finished, Makarov took his hand. "Come, I'll lead you. What's your name?"

"…Bixlow."

"How old are you, Bixlow?"

"Twelve. Almost thirteen."

"I have a grandson about your age. I think you'll quite like him. He's moody, too."

Makarov blinked as the memory faded. He hadn't thought of that particular introduction for a while. He never did learn where all that blood on Bixlow's hands came from. He'd never learned much about young Bixlow, not even a last name. The boy had made remarkable progress under Makarov's supervision and with Laxus's encouragement. It wasn't long before he'd joined the guild and completed Laxus's little gang of friends, the Raijinshuu. By then, Makarov had known better than to bring up the past.

"Gramps," Laxus began, "I know you don't want to hear this, and I was reluctant to believe it, too, but…Mirajane thinks that Bixlow could be part of it. Part of Phasm."

Makarov shook his head. "Impossible."

"I don't like it either," Laxus continued, "and Fried still refuses to see reason, but Mirajane makes a good point. The facts are the facts. From what they've told me, Bixlow's been acting weird since Lisanna woke up. I think it's because he knew she wasn't supposed to. Then he lured her away from everyone else, and they suddenly go missing? Her clothes and the demons parts all on top of that? Gramps, it just fits together. Bixlow is part of Phasm. He's working with them."

Makarov sighed. "Let's not jump to any conclusions yet. Where are Mirajane and the others?"

"Fried and Ever took Mira home. I told them to stay with her until we get this figured out, in case she tries to do something rash. Elfman and Lisanna are both gone. There's no telling what she's capable of."

"Right," Makarov said. He shuffled inside and grabbed his coat. "Take me to Bixlow's house, then. I'll need to see this for myself."


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

It was dark. Even Bixlow's special eyes had trouble adjusting in the tunnel's gloom. The shadows all around them engulfed the light cast by the lacrima, until it was a little blue star tied to Poppo. Lisanna scooted a bit closer. Bixlow jumped when she brushed his arm.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Can you see anything?"

"No," Bixlow said. "You should probably stay close. There's a miasma caused by the black magic. Looks like the illusion was camouflage _and_ a barrier to contain the demonic energy. I think we're in the right place."

"How do we find Elfman and the others?"

"If they're anything like Erza, they're probably out looking for us," Bixow replied. "We'll need to look for their souls, if Phasm hasn't already used them to feed Spyrodon."

"And if they have?"

Bixlow looked at her. He could just see the outline of her pale face. "Let's just assume they haven't."

"Oh." Lisanna crossed her arms. "Let's get going, then."

She started forward, but Bixlow reached out and grabbed her arm. "Lisanna," he began, "you realize that we're not gonna be able to kill this thing by ourselves, right? The most powerful mages in our guild didn't even get to it."

Lisanna turned and planted her feet. "What are you saying?"

"If we can't find their souls, if they're already gone…maybe we should just leave. We'll get Makarov if you want, we'll tell him everything, but even then I don't think we should continue. We'll need more than Fairy Tail if we're gonna defeat Spyrodon. Maybe…it's not worth the casualties. To be honest with you, I don't even know if killing Spyrodon will—"

Bixlow was cut off by Lisanna's flat hand, which flashed in the darkness as it slappe his face with enough force to bring tears to his eyes. He stifled a loud groan and cradled his jaw, working out the stinging pain with his fingers.

"I am _not_ giving up on my family," Lisanna said fiercely. "I refuse to believe that they're gone. While there is still breath in my body, I will do everything in my power to make them safe again. If you want to leave, then go. But I've come this far. I'm not turning back until I've got my big brother beside me."

Bixlow closed his eyes. He should've known better than to even bring it up. Even if he tried to explain their dismal chances of success, even if he promised to beg for the Council's help if she would just turn back, even if he confessed that the breath in her body was exactly what he was worried about, it wouldn't matter. Any argument was pointless. _I should've just gone to the old man_, Bixlow thought. _Shouldn't've worried about stupid lesser demons like that wendigo. I shouldn't have even brought her here_. People always said hindsight was twenty-twenty. Bixlow had never understood clearly what it meant until now. He left little room for regret. But this—bringing Lisanna up Mt. Hakobe for a glaringly obvious suicide mission—he regretted this. _I'm sorry, Lisanna_.

"Okay," he mumbled. He straightened up and readjusted the backpack on his shoulder. "Let's get goin', then."

The babies led the way with the light lacrima, although it did little good in the thick, oily miasma. It grew worse as they walked, until their lungs clenched with every breath and a bitter taste rested constantly at the back of their tongues. Even Bixlow's nimble feet fumbled on the slope in the dimness. Lisanna rested a hand on his shoulder as the ground became even more treacherous, in an attempt to keep her footing. "Can't you transform into a mountain goat or somethin'?" he whispered back at her when she nearly tripped both of them.

"Why should I?" she huffed back. "I've got an ass right here, leading the way."

"I knew you were starin' at my ass."

Lisanna narrowed her eyes at him. "I haven't seen anything but this tunnel. How do you know we're going the right way?"

"I don't," said Bixlow, "but the miasma's gettin' thicker, so that's a good sign. Hypothetically."

They continued down. The terrain evened out, and the tunnel became more of a smooth corridor. Even the miasma began to clear, burned away by enchanted torches scattered along the walls, casting what Bixlow could only describe as silver light in the gloom. When they passed the torches, the flames began giving off red sparks.

"That can't be good," Bixlow remarked.

Three cloaked figures emerged from the shadows, like they were crouched and waiting the entire time. Bixlow waved his hand and the babies shot forward before the dark mages could attack, each colliding with one of the mages in a burst of green light. Two of the babies hit their mark and the mages collapsed with a blow to the head, but Pappa was deflected by the center mage. The doll went spinning into the corridor wall, but recovered in time to launch another attack. The mage whispered something and immediately the babies froze, then dropped to the ground. Bixlow scowled and reached up to remove his mask. He could feel Lisanna tense behind him.

"I never thought I'd meet _you_ again," a female voice cooed from inside the mysterious cowl. Bixlow felt the blood drain from his face. His hand hesitated on the cold metal of his mask.

"No fuckin' way," he hissed.

The woman laughed. She removed her hood, revealing a tumble of brilliant orange curls that were as wild as she was. Her dainty face was harshly freckled in the flickering silver light, and in any other circumstance she would have been pretty. She had what Bixlow used to call a summer face—one made for laughter in the sunshine, for eating fresh red strawberries and breathing in the scent of sweet honeysuckle on the breeze. But the eyes ruined it. They were milky white from years of blindness, the eyes of an old gnarly fighting dog gone mad with rage.

"You sound surprised to see me," she said. "I wish I could see your face, Bixlow. It's been so long. How are you?"

Bixlow was speechless. Lisanna inched forward and touched his shoulder. "Bixlow?" she squeaked.

The woman tilted her head, frowning. "I thought I smelled a little slut," she said. "Girls didn't used to like you all that much. I was the only one who could stand you. I guess times have changed, though, haven't they? You're probably a hot commodity now. Tell me, slut, is Bixlow a good lay? He used to be a horrid kisser."

"Enid," Bixlow said. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be the one asking you that question," said Enid. She crossed her arms and shook her head, making a disappointed sound. "The Bixlow I knew would have had better sense than to enter a place with such a powerful miasma. Surely you can feel it?"

"How are you even _alive_?" Bixlow snapped, completely ignoring the blind woman's repartee. He could feel the rage rising up in him, an anger that hadn't surfaced in a long time. With it came all sorts of old, sepia-toned memories—a scrawny little girl with a mop of red curls effortlessly walking the tightrope, blindfolded for theatrical effect; a spunky smirk as she fumbled for the collar of his shirt and pressed their lips together; bitter tears streaming down a bleeding freckled cheek; screams, a face contorted in fear, panic breaking the blank white slate of her eyes.

Enid frowned. "No thanks to you," she said with a chill. She raised a hand. "I don't think I owe you an explanation. You never offered one to me. After all the chaos you caused, after all the lives you destroyed, all you did was run away. Like a _coward_."

The babies, which until now were suspended in midair, began to tremble violently. They shot higher into the air as though jerked upward by strings and slowly turned their smiling faces toward Bixlow and Lisanna.

"Bixlow…" Lisanna whimpered. She donned her tiger form, claws out, glancing warily between him and the levitating tiki dolls.

"Impossible," Bixlow breathed. He couldn't feel the babies' souls anymore. They were completely gone from his control.

"I'm not the incompetent novice anymore, Bixlow," Enid said. "I'm no longer the runt of the litter. I've had training. I've learned things—done things—that you can't even begin to imagine. Things that are completely out of your league." She smiled and closed her hand into a fist.

The babies simultaneously gave a high-pitched screech, echoing painfully in the cave. Bixlow blinked, and suddenly there was a white light across his vision, and something collided into him, sending him flying down the tunnel. The air left his lungs when he hit the ground, and his shoulder exploded with pain. He gasped, and blinked until his ears stopped ringing. Only after he could breathe again did he realize it wasn't ringing he heard.

It was screaming.

_Lisanna_.

He scrambled off the ground. There was blood smeared on the rock underneath him, but he ignored it. "Lisanna!" he called. He'd landed on the other side of the barrier, so he couldn't see anything that was happening on the other side. He heard her scream his name.

Bixlow ran and barreled right into an unforgiving rock wall. The impact was nearly as jarring as the first, only this time he managed to remain upright. He pressed his hand against the rock and discovered a solid barrier in his way. He beat on it with his fists, but it was unyielding. "Enid! Enid, what the hell did you do?! Let me back in! Enid!"

He heard a cry of outrage. A cracking sound. Laughter. "I'll give you this, Bixlow," Enid called from within. "She's a fighter."

A wail of agony.

"Lisanna!" There was blood on the rock. "Lisanna! Dammit, Enid, stop! Let her go! Your beef's with me, it's got nothin' to do with her! Enid, listen to me!"

"Bixlow!"

This shout didn't come from within—it came from behind, from outside. Bixlow wheeled around and saw a sight that, if he were a lesser man, could've made him fall to his knees and cry in relief. As it was, he didn't have the time. He barely had time to dive out of the way as Black Steel Gajeel sprinted at the barrier with two metal javelins for arms. The wall cracked like glass when they collided. The snarling silver dragonslayer took three loping steps back and rammed into it again. The Salamander came in after him, alight like a comet. He planted his feet, took a deep breath, and gave a mighty, fiery roar. The barrier erupted in a burst of red sparks.

Dark energy spilled from the tunnel, dimming the Salamander's fires. Bixlow saw the whirl of Enid's cloak as she spun around, the black fabric catching on the orange flame. She waved her hands and the miasma gathered around her, suffocating the fire. She drew her arm back and Bixlow ducked from the flash of silver. A delicate knife clattered to the ground behind him, slick and red with blood.

Enid gave a wordless scream and the three tiki dolls zoomed toward them. Natsu fended them off with his flame, and Gajeel jumped out of the smoke, smashing the dolls to bits with his iron fists. Enid was muttering quickly under her breath, making signs with her hands. Bixlow felt the miasma pulse, and dark energy gathering all around them. He got up and charged at her, but she heard him coming and the miasma condensed around him, blocking his path, slowing him down. It was like trying to run in water. Her chants continued in a steady stream as the two dragonslayers finished with the babies. She pressed her hand to the ground and the miasma hissed and became two shades darker, slithering toward them, winding around their flailing arms and legs.

"What the hell is this?!" Natsu yelled. Fire rolled from his mouth and hands, but it was no use; the miasma snuffed it out on contact, leaving no trace but the smell of burnt oil.

Gajeel punched at it, but to no avail. "I can't touch it!"

"She's manipulating the demonic energy around us!" Bixlow said. He struggled with the tendrils of shadow, but what it lacked in strength it made up for in persistence and quantity. Every time he gained ground, the miasma's current dragged him back down, gently gripping and pulling. He grit his teeth as the fog crawled up his body, slowly heading for his neck. "Enid…please. I'm asking you to stop!"

Enid smirked, her lips still moving. The miasma curled around his neck, tightening in microscopic increments. "I want you to beg," she said. Her fingers curled, and the tendril squeezed his throat. He could hear Natsu and Gajeel gurgling behind him.

Suddenly, Enid gasped and turned around, but too late. Lisanna tackled her from behind, knocking both of them to the ground. The miasma loosened its grip. The two women tumbled and landed with Enid on top, digging her fingers into the cuts she'd inflicted on Lisanna's chest and arms. Lisanna screamed, but her tiger paw swatted Enid down, claws raking three red lines down her cheek. Gajeel caught the blind woman and held her slim body still with one arm, his other hand coming up to cover her mouth before she could begin her incantations again.

Bixlow went to Lisanna, who was struggling to sit up. The front of her green sweater was soaked in blood and sliced in several places. Bixlow helped her sit up and peered at it, gingerly taking the wool between his fingers and peeling it away to get a better look. Lisanna yelped and slapped his hand. "That hurts!"

"Well, I need to get a look at it before you bleed out!"

"It's fine," Lisanna huffed, pulling away. She pointed to Natsu and Gajeel. "Those two. They have souls? They're not like Erza?"

Bixlow nodded. "Yeah, they're in the clear."

"We escaped," Natsu explained. "Phasm ambushed us while we were battling some Vulcans. Happy and Pantherlily escaped too, but they're up in the air for surveillance. Phasm managed to get the others. We were looking for them when we heard Bixlow yelling."

"What're you two even doin' here?" Gajeel growled. He shook Enid. "And how the hell d'you know this bitch?"

"And what do you mean, 'like Erza'?" Natsu chipped in.

"Long story short, Lisanna was possessed by a demon when you guys left," Bixlow said. "Her soul contacted me and we managed to get her back in her own body and vanquish the demon. Then she wanted to find her brother, but we couldn't trust anyone in the guild, not after the way the demon threatened us. It implied that there were others."

"When we got to the mountain, we were attacked by Erza," Lisanna picked up. She gritted her teeth while Bixlow helped her stand, and buttoned Fried's coat to cover the blood. "She was possessed, too. We think that Phasm harvested her soul and is using her body for security."

"We're about to find out for sure," Bixlow said, narrowing his eyes at Enid. He walked toward her until they were face to face. She couldn't see him, but she would be able to feel the heat from his body, and hear the malice in his voice. "Enid, here in a few seconds, my friend is gonna release you. When he does, you're not to utter a single chant, you got me? All you're gonna do is answer our questions. If not, I'll slice you up with your pretty little knife like you did Lisanna. Nod if you understand."

Enid nodded. Gajeel uncovered her mouth, and she smiled. "You wouldn't really cut me, would you, Bixlow?"

"Try me." He reached up and touched the three scratches on her face. "I might let Lisanna do it. Looks like she already got in a good one."

"The slut's an even bigger freak than me," Enid retorted. "You sure know how to pick 'em, don'tcha?"

Bixlow drew his finger across her injured cheek, causing her to grimace. It left a red smear on her skin. "Play nice, Enid. I know it's hard for you, but try. Tell me, are there reinforcements on their way here right now?"

"Probably not," Enid said. "Usually I'm enough to take care of business. The others are busy."

"Doin' what?"

"Who knows? I'm not privilege to that information. I'm just security, that's all."

"For some reason, I don't believe you," Bixlow drawled. "But we don't got much time, so I'll get right to the point. My friends, the ones whose souls you've collected, the ones whose bodies you're usin' to house demons—where are they?"

"Well, their bodies are exactly where you said—on the mountain, looking for threats. Their souls…it's much too late for them, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean, too late?" Lisanna interrupted, bumping into Bixlow.

"They're gone," Enid replied. "Devoured. And I'm guessing you already know what ate them."

Lisanna gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, tears gathering in her eyes. Natsu looked equally devastated and stunned. Gajeel just scowled bitterly.

"I heard that two of them were quite valuable," Enid continued jovially. "One had a menagerie of monster souls packed into him. There was another one who had all these keys with her that each carried a soul. I'm told they were an especially tasty snack, and sped up the process quite nicely."

Lisanna leapt at Enid, but Bixlow held her back. "That was my brother, you bitch!" she screamed. "You _murdered_ my brother!"

Natsu side-stepped them and put a flaming fist in Enid's face, though even that intense heat didn't faze the blind woman. She continued to look straight ahead, a little cruel smirk on her lips. "That can't be true," the Salamander growled. "You tell us where to find Lucy and the others, _right now_!"

"They're in the belly of Spyrodon, the Devourer of Lost Souls, Lord Zeref's final and greatest creation," Enid said. "There's only one way to get them back, and it's nigh impossible."

"Tell us," Natsu snarled. "Tell us now."

Enid considered it for a moment. "No," she said. "I don't think I will. In fact, I'm sure that I've already said too much already. I'm bound to get a time-out for this. But I'm sure Bixlow can tell you." Words began spilling from her mouth again, a river of sorcery. She was already disappearing before Gajeel could silence her. Her body dissolved into ash that crashed onto the Iron Dragonslayer's steel-toed boots. He clutched hopelessly at it, but it slid through his fingers.

Bixlow stared at the spot where that pretty blind phantom had stood only seconds ago. In the ensuing silence, he tried to wrap his mind around it—Enid was alive, she was part of Phasm, and she was more powerful than ever before. More powerful than he was.

When he looked up from the ashes, Bixlow found three expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him. "What?" he snapped.

"She said you'd know," Natsu responded, making a fist at his side. "She said you'd know how to bring the others back. Do you?"

Bixlow swallowed. He looked at each of them in turn—Natsu's determined gaze, Gajeel's suspicious one, and Lisanna's hopeful blue pools. "I think so," he confessed.

"How?"

"It…it's black magic," Bixlow whispered, turning away. "It's bad. Really bad."

There was a hesitant pause. Lisanna touched his arm, forcing him to look at her. "Whatever it is, we'll do it. If it means saving our nakama, we'll do anything."

Gajeel crossed his arms. "What no one knows won't hurt 'em."

"Agreed," Natsu nodded. "What do we need to do?"

"From what Enid said, they're trying to resurrect Spyrodon by feeding him enough souls," Bixlow began. "But she made it sound like they weren't quite done yet. Greater demons who are bound like that, who haven't manifested yet, need what you'd call a familiar. They're too big for containers or possession, so instead they…_influence_ the mind of a person. This person is what keeps the demon tethered to the material plain. Without a familiar, the demon returns to whatever hell it came from, or is locked back into its prison until another potential familiar comes around. I think that's why, back you were tellin' me how Leon tried to release that ice demon—"

"Deliora," Natsu said.

"—right, Deliora. When he was tryin' to release Deliora, the demon crumbled up. It's because he didn't have a familiar." Bixlow took a deep breath. "When the bond between the familiar and the demon is broken, the demon returns to its original stasis. That means any progress—and relation with the material plain at all—is reverted."

"So if we sever the bond between the familiar and Spyrodon, then all the souls it's devoured will return to their bodies," Gajeel guessed.

"Hypothetically," Bixlow said. "But we'd have to make sure the bodies were empty vessels."

"Meaning we'd have to defeat the demons that are possessing Erza and the others," Lisanna said dismally.

Bixlow nodded.

"We can handle that," Natsu said confidently, looking at Gajeel. "The real question is, how do we find the demon's familiar?"

"Easy," said Lisanna. "The familiar will be the leader of the cult. All we have to do is find him and sever the bond." She turned to Bixlow, raising an eyebrow. "How, exactly, do we do that?"

"There's only one way," Bixlow said. "We kill him."

Another loaded silence. Bixlow was quickly becoming tired of those.

"Is…is that the only way?" Lisanna finally whispered.

Bixlow nodded. "If there was another way, I'd tell you. But this is it. Even if the familiar's just some poor guy who was exploring the wrong caves—even if it's some kid—even if it's a completely innocent person, the only way we're gonna have any hope of rescuin' the souls is by killin' him. My guess is that he's pretty much gone, anyway. A demon's influence…changes a person. If we wait for the demon to manifest, we'll have to kill it, too, and then it's a long shot as to if we'll get anything back at all."

"How do you know there's not another way?" Natsu challenged. "How do you know about all this in the first place?"

"Because," Gajeel said when Bixlow wouldn't answer, "he's done it. Ain't that right, rock star?"

"It was a long time ago," Bixlow said defensively. "Before I joined Fairy Tail."

Gajeel shrugged his shoulders. "I ain't one to judge. I'm willin' to do this if you are."

The other two shared a glance, then nodded. "Alright," Lisanna said. "Let's go save our friends."


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

There wasn't much time for planning. The blind woman was probably alerting other Phasm mages to their presence. Natsu had flagged Happy and Pantherlily down from their posts. Now they guarded the ends of the cavern—Happy in the corridor, Pantherlily at the entrance—while the others put their heads together in the silvery torchlight.

"There are two primary objectives," said Bixlow. "We need to take down the demons that are possessing the Titania, Cosplay Queen, Easy Freeze, and Lisanna's brother."

"They have names, Bixlow," Lisanna sighed.

Natsu chuckled. "Easy Freeze, though. I like it."

"Anyway," Bixlow interrupted, "our other goal is to kill Spyrodon's familiar. Now, I think it's safe to assume that it's the leader of Phasm. I think the smartest way to do this is to split up, since we're on a bit of a tight schedule. The only way to guarantee that the others'll get their souls back is to make sure the demons are out before we kill the familiar, but we're just gonna have to do our best here. We'll try and track down any lingering souls if—"

"We'll get them all," Natsu said with certainty. He cracked his knuckles. "I want that job."

"Right," Bixlow said. "Good. Take Lisanna and Pantherlily with you. Gajeel, Happy, and I will go for the familiar."

"_What?_" Happy and Lisanna said in unison.

"You"—he pointed to Lisanna—"wanna get your brother, right? This is the way you're gonna do that for sure. And since I'm pretty sure Black Steel's cat is the only one who can probably match the Titania's swordsmanship, he needs to go with you, meaning that this blue cat"—he jabbed a finger at Happy—"should come with us as a lookout."

Gajeel grinned wide. "I got no complaints."

"I do," Pantherlily growled. "I'm not a simple cat. And I don't _belong_ to Gajeel."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, Lily."

"Don't make me hurt you."

"But…" Lisanna was at a loss for words. His reasoning was sound, but something about his plan felt wrong in her chest. "But what about you? Without the babies, aren't you practically defenseless?"

Bixlow attempted to disarm her with a tongue-wagging grin. "Worried, huh?"

"That's not an answer to my question."

"I wouldn't call myself defenseless," Bixlow assured, flexing a muscle. "I'm more than a one-trick pony, so don't get your panties in a twist. Besides, I gotta go since I'm the only one who knows how to perform the ritual to kill the familiar."

"Ritual?" Happy squeaked.

"Black magic," Gajeel rumbled, not without venom. "It won't be as easy as clubbin' the guy on the back of the head, that's for sure."

Bixlow reached out and gently ruffled Lisanna's short white hair. "I'll be fine," he promised, offering her a smaller smile. He tapped his mask. "Special eyes, remember?"

Lisanna frowned. His Figure Eyes weren't much use against Enid's blindness, and there was no telling what other sort of powerful mages Phasm had at their disposal. Even if the red-headed woman wasn't blind, would Bixlow have been able to use his eyes? It was clear they had a connection—a past, and one that, if what Enid said was true, wasn't entirely unfriendly. Lisanna had no doubt he'd see her again before the mission was over. Would he be able to fight her? Kill her, if necessary?

Bixlow's thoughts seemed to run a similar route. "I'd be worried about myself, if I were you," he told her. "You okay with fightin' your brother? You might have to beat him up pretty bad."

"He's had it coming for a while," Lisanna said with false lightness. "All those brawls he drags me into, and the other big brother stuff."

"The important thing to remember is to get the demon _out_," Bixlow told them. "As quickly as possible, if you can. Try knocking the body unconscious. That'll usually do the trick, if they want to keep on fighting. If not, find a way to contain them."

"Right," Natsu said. He stood up. "We should all get going."

Gajeel went over to Pantherlily for what Lisanna could only assume were parting words. She trailed behind, waiting until they slapped hands to tap the Iron Dragonslayer on the shoulder. He glanced down at her, raising a pierced eyebrow.

"Please watch him," she requested, biting her lip. "Just…try not to let anything happen to him. The blind woman destroyed his babies—he needs someone to watch his back."

Gajeel blinked. "Yeah, okay. Uh, good luck. With your brother, I mean."

"Thank you," Lisanna said, blushing. "You too. Good luck with…everything."

Gajeel nodded to Pantherlily and left to join Bixlow and Happy deeper in the tunnel. Pantherlily turned his eyes up at Lisanna, a smirk crinkling the crescent-shaped scar over his eye. "I can't wait to see where _that_ goes, after this is all over," he chuckled.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, _you_ know." Lisanna had never seen a cat move its eyebrows so suggestively. She blushed again, but was spared from responding by Natsu joining them.

"Ready?" he asked.

Lisanna looked back into the tunnel, where the other half of the group was discussing their own objective. Only they were double tasking, walking deeper into the tunnel as they went. Bixlow turned back just before they were engulfed by the darkness of the miasma. His bright reckless grin was the last thing to disappear.

Her chest burned. She couldn't convince herself that it was solely due to the injuries Enid had inflicted on her. She took a deep breath and faced the blizzard, the incessant, wet drop of hail and flurries on the mountainside. "Yeah," she said. "I'm ready."

* * *

It was late spring, but Makarov was still cold.

He was dressed in nothing but his cotton flannel pajamas, his bedroom slippers, and a dark green bath robe with the Fairy Tail symbol embroidered on the chest in gold thread—a birthday present from Mirajane, many years ago. He'd complained that only old men wore bath robes, but he treasured it nonetheless. Now, though, he wished he'd dressed in something more substantial for the trek from his modest dwelling to the house Bixlow and Fried apparently rented together. Laxus assured him it wasn't a long walk, but despite the temperate season, Magnolia's nights remained stubbornly chilly. Tonight there was a particularly nasty bite on the wind, the death rattle of a hard and long winter.

"How much longer?" he asked his grandson, who stoically walked straight ahead. He answered the questions with which Makarov peppered him, but otherwise remained eerily silent. The old man guessed he was distressed and disturbed about Bixlow's predicament. Out of all the Raijinshuu, Makarov considered Bixlow the least blinded by admiration. While there was no doubt the seith mage admired Laxus to the same degree as his cohorts, it seemed their friendship was based on mutual respect rather than the strangely girlish affection expressed by Evergreen and Fried. Laxus must have wondered what had driven Bixlow to such deceit, and why he would betray those so close to him. Makarov, in spite of the lack of physical evidence, found himself wondering the same.

"Not far," Laxus answered. "Just down this street."

They walked for a few more minutes until Laxus stopped at a small, isolated house a few blocks from the canal. It was a neat little house, slightly dingy, but then mage work rarely paid well enough for anything shiny and new. The porch light was off, but there was a dim glow in one of the windows. Laxus gestured to the place. "This is it."

"So I see," Makarov murmured. There was something…off about the house. Something sinister. He caught a glimpse of movement—a shadow—in the window. "Laxus, you said there was no one else here?"

"There shouldn't be," the lightning mage replied. "I sent Ever and Fried with Mira. I told them to stay. Maybe one of them came back. Probably Ever, I think she's trying to get Fried and Mira together."

Makarov glanced at his grandson. It wasn't like him to be so involved in guild gossip. But then, who _wasn't_ trying to get Mirajane and Fried together? "Right. Come, show me inside."

Laxus shrugged and led the way through the small concrete path to the porch. He opened the door. The lights were all on, illuminating the gruesome scene the living room had become. Makarov took a step inside, mesmerized and horrified. Black ichor splattered the walls. Ash and bits of an obliterated coffee table littered the floor. The furniture was ripped. There was a hole in the plaster.

Laxus closed the door behind him and sighed. "What'd I tell you? It's bad."

"You weren't lying," Makarov whispered. He kicked at the ash, inspected the blood. The old man turned to his grandson, feeling at once more confident and more hopeless. "I don't think you have to worry about Bixlow, Laxus. From what I can see, they were attacked by a monster. This blood isn't human, and this ash…it's exactly like what the task force found at the crime scene in the pasture. I do believe this is Phasm's work, but I don't see how Bixlow fits into the equation. _Someone_ had to fight whatever attacked, and Lisanna was still quite weak from her coma. Unfortunately, that probably means whatever attacked has both of them now."

"What about the clothes?" Laxus asked. "What about the demonic specimens?"

"It's probably circumstantial," Makarov said, meandering into the kitchen. "I imagine that, once we find Bixlow, we'll have to question him about that. But the important thing, child, is to find—" Makarov froze when he turned the corner into the kitchen, shocked out of speech. The entire kitchen was scorched, from floor to ceiling. The table remained standing, and on it sat a little porcelain doll and a bundle of bloody clothes. After a moment, Makarov identified the triangular burnt bit of wood on the floor as the skeleton of a paper fan.

Makarov stared at the fan. He could hear Laxus behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. The old man closed his eyes as the swelling tempest of rage crashed around inside him, wave after wave. He could feel his body slowly expanding, struggling to contain the depth of his emotion in his pygmy form.

"As old as I am," he said, voice deep and trembling with anger, "you'd think I'd have learned by now how not to be an idiot."

"You'd think," Laxus drawled.

Makarov turned his head, growing angrier and growing taller. His head almost reached the crisp ceiling. The blonde dragonslayer smirked at him. His eyes, only moments ago so very blue, were black pits from pupil to sclera. "Demon," Makarov rumbled. "What have you done with my grandson?"

Laxus's smirk became a wicked grin, his teeth sharp and cruel. "Oh, don't worry, old man. You're about to find out."

* * *

Bixlow couldn't resist looking over his shoulder one last time as he went forth into Phasm's lair with Black Steel Gajeel and the Salamander's blue cat. He felt like a sissy the moment his head swung back, but when he caught Lisanna's worried blue eye and grinned at her, he knew for a fact that he was one. He couldn't really bring himself to care.

"So," Gajeel said after a while of walking down the tunnel, "I know that we're goin' after the leader of this cult, but how, exactly, do we figure out who the leader is?"

"When we see a mage, we'll just say, 'Take me to your leader,'" Happy proposed cheerfully. He wilted when Gajeel gave him a look that was less than amused.

Bixlow grinned his trademark grin. "That might work. Honestly, the only lead I got is somethin' the demon possessing Lisanna said—somethin' about a guy named Alastor. I'm willin' to bet that he's the one we're lookin' for."

"Alastor," Gajeel repeated. "We'll just ask for Alastor then, I guess. When we meet someone. Who the hell is in charge of guarding this place? They're doin' a shit job."

"According to Enid, she was in charge of security," Bixlow answered. He agreed with Black Steel, though—the lack of defense was unnerving. They'd walked for a good ten minutes and had yet to meet anyone. They weren't exactly being subtle about their presence, either.

"Speakin' of which," Gajeel said, "what's your deal with her? The blind girl?"

"Why?"

The Iron Dragonslayer shrugged. "You two obviously have a past. Just wanna know what I'm gettin' myself into, that's all."

"I knew her a long time ago. Before Fairy Tail. We…grew up together," Bixlow said vaguely. There was so much more to that story, so much more to Enid, but he wasn't going to share it with Black Steel Gajeel in the middle of a mountain cave.

"This the same 'before Fairy Tail' that you did your black magic?"

Bixlow winced. "Not exactly."

"Gonna elaborate on that?"

"Nope." He glared at the dragonslayer from behind his mask. "And no offense, but I wouldn't go throwin' stones if I were you."

"My past doesn't directly pertain to the present situation," Gajeel pointed out.

"Neither does mine."

"You sure about that?"

Bixlow didn't answer.

"Hey, uh, Bixlow," Happy said when the silence became uncomfortable, "what'd you say to Natsu before we left? Something important?"

Bixlow recalled his exchange with the Salamander after the meeting adjourned. He'd grabbed his arm, holding the dragonslayer back as he went to follow Lisanna to the entrance of the cave. "What I said goes for you, too," he'd whispered. "About fightin' the others. If you're not good with takin' the blonde, or whatever…"

"I wouldn't've volunteered if I wasn't," Natsu assured him, not unkindly. "I'll know it's not Lucy, trust me. Besides, I wouldn't really want anyone else on that job."

Bixlow guessed he understood where the Salamander was coming from. At least if it was him fighting Lucy's demon, he'd know exactly how hard he'd hit her. There could be no reckless brutality, no careless bruises on the blonde girl's body.

"Look, would you mind…watchin' her?" Bixlow nudged his head in the direction of Lisanna, where she was talking to Gajeel and Pantherlily. "She's still weak from the coma, and the demon, and if she has to fight her own brother…just keep her safe, Salamander."

Natsu blinked. "Well, yeah," he said, as though the thought of _not_ actively protecting Lisanna had never crossed his mind.

Bixlow hated him for it, just a little bit.

He looked down at Happy, who was bursting with curiosity. No doubt the flying feline had been close enough to hear some of the conversation. "Yeah," Bixlow answered. "It was important."

"Well," Gajeel probed after another silent spell, "what'd you say?"

"What is this, Interrogate Bixlow Day? Look, it's none of your business, alright? How _long_ is this freakin' tunnel?"

Though it would have been opportune, the tunnel did not end after Bixlow's exclamation. It kept on indefinitely, lit by the silver torches that dotted the smooth cavern walls at irregular intervals, sentencing him to yet another bout of uncomfortable chit-chat with the Iron Dragonslayer and a winged blue cat.

"Y'know," Gajeel began again, after the allotted quiet time, "she asked me to watch your back, too. The little Strauss girl."

Bixlow blinked. "Huh?"

"She asked me to watch your back while you were talkin' to the Salamander. Said she was worried about you, since you didn't have your wooden doll things. What happened to those, anyway?"

"They got smashed," Bixlow muttered. He frowned. "Well, don't worry about me. Even without the babies, I'm not exactly _defenseless_."

"Yeah," said Gajeel, humored. "Well, somethin' tells me she ain't defenseless either. But that don't stop you from worryin', does it?"

"Aye," Happy concurred.

"And to think, I picked you to come with me 'cause I thought we were kindred spirits," Bixlow said. He glanced at Happy. "And 'cause I thought you'd be too scared of me to talk."

"It's sad," Gajeel said. "You think your kindred spirit is quiet."

"That's hurtful."

The dragonslayer only grunted in response.

"See," Bixlow cried, "that's what I was expectin', right there. Grunts and sassy one-liners while you punched dark mages in the mouth with your iron fist. If I wanted real words, I'd've just taken Lisanna with me and spared myself all this worrying you think I'm up to."

"Nah, you wouldn't've," Gajeel snorted. "Your main source of power is smashed. You got your special eyes, and probably some combative skills, but how's that compare to the Salamander's fire magic? Right now, he's stronger than you. That's why you sent her with him."

"Aye," Happy agreed.

"What, does the bookworm got you slingin' romance novels at people now?"

"Say what you want," Gajeel shrugged. "At least I can protect my woman from danger."

"Fuck you," Bixlow snapped. Gajeel wasn't wrong, and that made Bixlow hate him just a little more than he currently hated the Salamander. At least Natsu was too naïve to notice Bixlow's intentions, and certainly too caught up in the mission to bother calling him out on it.

"Wait a second," Happy gasped, grinning at Gajeel. "Did you just call Levy _your woman_?"

Of course, it was only when the subject shifted from Bixlow's complicated love life to Gajeel's that the tunnel finally decided to do something interesting.

It exploded.

For a moment, the silver torches burned with the vigorous intensity of one hundred mounted stars, and then suddenly a wave of heat like Bixlow had never felt washed over them, and the tunnel was gone, replaced by rubble and whiteness and a perpetual ringing noise that reminded him of Lisanna's screaming.

Something caught the waistline of Bixlow's pants and yanked him upward. He groaned, but that pain was nothing compared to the sting of smacking onto an unyielding rock surface. He blinked and struggled to breathe as his former injuries—which were quickly accumulating—flared up all at once.

Happy landed beside him, wings protruding from his back. "Sorry," he said, wincing. "You're both so heavy. The best I could do was slow down your landing."

Debris was still falling. A pebble clipped Bixlow's mask. From what he could see, they'd fallen quite a height—maybe one hundred feet, through three layers of tunnel at least. Without Happy's intervention, Bixlow probably would have died, though he couldn't speak for the Iron Dragonslayer. "S'okay," he wheezed, sitting up and taking stock of his surroundings.

They were in a small chamber without torches, so the only light available poured down in silver beams from the hole above. The jagged remains of stalagmites and stalactites surrounded them, along with rubble from the explosion. Cold water pooled on the ground and streamed from the ceiling. It soaked Bixlow's clothes when he stood up from the puddle.

Gajeel was, naturally, already pacing, looking for danger. A stray boulder rebounded from the tunnel and hurtled toward him, but with one absent metal fist he sent it flying into the wall, where it shattered into dust.

"Where are we?" Happy wondered, his round eyes even wider as he looked around.

"Dunno," Bixlow said. There wasn't anything of interest in the cave. "Probably somethin' they use as a dungeon, or maybe it's just abandoned."

A voice came up from above, deep and contemptuous. "Phasm is more industrious than that, you imbecile. We don't let our resources go to waste, not like you fairies."

The trio looked up and saw a tall cloaked figure standing in the lip of the hole. His hood was down, revealing a shaved head and dark brown skin. Two eyes as silver as the fires on the torches glinted in the middle of his face.

"Who are you?" Bixlow shouted. "What is this?!"

"I am the man who is going to kill you," the mysterious figure said. He smiled wolfishly, revealing bright white teeth. "And this, weakling, is your grave."


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Author's Note:**_ This is a longer chapter, about twice as long as the usual length. It's also not a lot of present information; it's more of a flashback so that the rest of the story will make more sense. Also, I'd like to thank everyone for the favorites and follows and reviews! I know my updates have been sporadic, and I appreciate you guys hanging in there. :)_

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Bixlow and Gajeel stood back to back in the center of the pit as twelve more cloaked figures joined the man who was going to kill them around the opening, hoods drawn up to hide their faces in shadow. They were evenly spaced, about an arm's width from each other, positioned like dominoes for an easy defeat should their captives decide to attack.

Nevertheless, Bixlow was suspicious—judging by the evidence the task force had collected, the present circumstances were identical to those at the pasture where Lisanna's soul was abducted. Although the dark mages had ambushed their targets before, and had only succeeded in extracting one soul that they eventually lost, they had, to a degree, _succeeded_. The group was clever, resourceful, and completely deranged—a potent amalgamation, particularly when dealing with seith magic.

Gajeel smirked at the leader, whose glittering silver eyes were the only ones visible. "Think you dug our grave a bit too early. We're still kickin'."

"You're capable of kicking," the leader said, "but you won't. You're going to stay in that hole and let us kill you."

"Wanna bet?"

As Gajeel prepared to pounce, the leader reached behind him and roughly grabbed a limp woman, keeping her prone body up with one arm around her waist while holding a dagger to her throat with the other. The girl's blonde head rolled to one side, and Bixlow could just make out the delicate features of Lucy Heartphilia in the torchlight. Her body, usually brilliant with the starry glow of her Celestial contracts, was dim and soulless. Gajeel cursed, his smirk becoming a sneer.

"Lucy!" Happy gasped from behind Bixlow.

"Do you recognize her?" the leader taunted. "She's one of yours. I believe you understand how a hostage situation works—you move, and I will slice her throat open."

"How do we know she ain't already dead?" Gajeel called. "That blind bitch already told us that you fed her soul and her keys to your demon. What's to say you didn't already dispose of her body, since you ain't usin' it like the others?"

"Like I said, Phasm isn't wasteful. True we did not use her for security—without her keys, her body is just that of an ordinary woman—but clearly she is of some use now, as a bargaining chip. Why would we go through the trouble of expelling something of potential value?" The leader smiled again. "Although, I don't have any way of proving that to you without cutting her, so unless that's what you want, I suppose you'll just have to take my word for it."

Gajeel glanced at Bixlow, frowning. "Can you tell from down here? If she's alive?"

"Her soul's gone, but that don't mean much," Bixlow whispered back. "Her body could still be alive as an empty vessel, or she could be dead. If we attack and he kills her, even if we get her soul back she won't be able to return to that body. If we do nothin' and let him kill us, though, I'm pretty sure she'll die anyway."

"Salamander won't be _happy_," Gajeel muttered. That's when Bixlow noticed that the blue cat was gone from underfoot. He saw movement in the shadows of the pit, away from the rays of silver light cast from the hole. "If we win and we lose Blondie, that is."

"Aye," said Bixlow.

Above them, the thirteen mages began chanting in a dark, guttural language. A halo of blinding white light shone around the circumference of the pit, steaming and hissing as it branded the wet rock. In that moment, Happy shot from the pit like a blue bullet, knocking right into the leader. He slipped his paws under Lucy's armpits and hauled her into the air, soaring out of the dark mages' panicked crossfire.

Gajeel and Bixlow wasted no time. They leapt from the pit and began bludgeoning the hooded mages, who did, indeed, lose their balance and knock each other into the hole. "Get her outta here!" Bixlow yelled to Happy as he flipped a Phasm mage over his shoulder, into the pit.

"Aye!" the cat replied. He flew the way they'd fallen, up and up until he ducked into a tunnel and out of sight.

Only six of the original thirteen Phasm mages remained above the hole to fight, including their furious leader. The others were unconscious or injured inside the pit. Gajeel fought them like a metal machine, taking on four of the mages by himself. As Bixlow watched, he sent another two flying into the pit. Bixlow ducked as the last cloaked mage attacked, and caught a slender white hand by the wrist. The woman tried to twist out of his grasp, long platinum hair spilling from her hood, but Bixlow easily overpowered her and skillfully discombobulated her with a blow to the back of her head.

Without hesitation, he wheeled around and tossed her at the leader, who was racing toward him with the silver knife in hand. The man snarled and didn't bother catching his comrade, didn't even bother stepping out of her trajectory—he brutally shoved her out of his path, harder than even Bixlow had handled her. She lost her balance at the edge of the pit and fell inside, screaming until she hit the bottom with an ugly crunch.

Bixlow braced himself for the man's visible rage, but was still shocked at the fierceness of his attacks. The knife came slashing down with incredible speed, nicking Bixlow in the shoulder even after he dodged. Bixlow landed a blow on the man's side and grabbed his wrist, managing to disarm him before he could use the blade again. The maneuver left Bixlow open, and the man slipped his arm under Bixlow's and threw him over his shoulder—but Bixlow had expected it, and landed on his feet instead of his back, swinging around to punch the man after a second of recovery. The dark mage ducked agilely, and instead of tackling Bixlow to the ground like he predicted, simply planted the heel of his left hand into the center of Bixlow's chest.

Bixlow's body shuddered, and his knees gave out from under him. He looked up at the Phasm mage, amazed. The man was _touching_ Bixlow's soul, using it to control his movements. Aside from his own Figure Eyes, Bixlow had never encountered such precise, penetrative seith magic—and this was clearly a learned technique, not a dark gift. Despite the nature of the situation, he felt impressed.

And cold. Violated. Helpless. He could barely twitch his muscles, not even enough to move away from the mage's hand, which was still on his chest. The foreign control over his body was unnerving, but it was the invasive contact with his soul that was fundamentally _wrong_. He knew the dark mage was examining his psyche, estimating his ability as an opponent, judging the sort of person he was. Bixlow tried to put up barriers, but he was shaken by the mage's skill, and he let a few vulnerabilities slip through—his shock over Enid's appearance, his loss of the babies and the power he lost with them, his conflicting emotions surrounding Lisanna, and, perhaps worst of all, his complete and utter lack of a real plan.

Lastly, one hideous thought that was thankfully guarded from the dark mage—perhaps this is what it felt like to other people, when he controlled them with his Figure Eyes.

"Who—the hell—are you?" he said between gritted teeth.

"I told you," the man said with a sneer. "I'm the one who's going to kill you, Bixlow. You, and all of your fairy friends."

"It seems unfair," Bixlow growled. "You know my name…but I don't know yours."

"I'm not Alastor, if that's what you think," the man said, and Bixlow grimaced, because that was exactly what he'd surmised. "My name is Hugh. I am Alastor's lieutenant. You won't get to Alastor, weakling, because you'll have to kill _me_ in order to do that, and judging by your current predicament, that's not going to happen."

Hugh clenched his fingers into a fist, his knuckles still in contact with Bixlow's chest. A searing agony went through his body, like his molecular structure was being torn apart atom by atom. It was a deep bone-marrow pain Bixlow had only experienced once in his life, and it had almost killed him. He was in too much pain to scream—his eyes blurred and the rims of his vision began to blacken.

"Be grateful," Hugh said, "that I'm standing between you and Alastor. He's much more ruthless than I am."

He released Bixlow from his soul grip and turned to confront Gajeel as the Iron Dragonslayer came up from behind him, having defeated the last of the hooded henchmen. Bixlow's body went limp and he collapsed onto the ground, still unable to move, catching one last glimpse of the battle before the blistering anguish hurled him back into another time, another place, another memory.

* * *

It was ten years ago. A decade. A lifetime.

Bixlow never knew where exactly he came from. He had been part of the circus for as long as he could remember, and he never bothered to ask anyone about the circumstances of his adoption. No one could have told him. The circus picked up orphans all the time. It was easy, cheap labor. The children did get marginally better conditions working for the circus than living out on the streets or in an orphanage—they were fed two meals a day, blankets and sometimes pillows to sleep with on the hard floor of their train car, baths with the water left over from the animals, and they got to travel all over Earthland—but it was clear that it was no charity. They worked hard for long hours and no pay, were treated cruelly by most of the adults, and if one of them was injured or died, they were simply tossed off of the train and a new orphan from the next town replaced them. Most kids didn't last for more than two years before they were mauled, died from exhaustion, or, if they were older, left to pursue other means of employment.

Bixlow was an exception. He was aggressive, hard-working, and lacked the naïvety and innocence that were so pervasive in even the roughest children. Bixlow would scrap with anyone for extra food, for the best spot on the orphan car, for an easier or less dangerous task, and he always won what he set out for. The other children didn't like him much, but Bixlow was fine with that. Lesco, the man in charge, claimed to like his "spunk," and that's what mattered.

It was Lesco who chose Bixlow as the animal trainer's personal assistant. Gruff, stubborn, cynical Brent lacked Lesco's panache in the ring, but since Lesco wasn't willing to risk himself to perform tricks with the animals, he ordered Brent to train Bixlow to assist and eventually replace him in the performance.

Brent wasn't happy about it, but Lesco told him to, "Think of it as just training another one of the animals," and that's exactly what the animal trainer did.

Bixlow quickly learned about the animals, how to take care of them, how their training worked, their individual performances, and his own choreography. When he made mistakes, argued, or was insubordinate in any way, Brent would whip him with a slender switch, so as not to leave noticeable scars under the bright stage lights.

Bixlow was whipped often.

He didn't take it personally. Brent whipped his blind daughter just as often. Enid was mischievous, cunning, talented, and adored by everyone in the circus except for the orphans, who all hated her guts. Her blindness prevented her from working laboriously, but her surprising talent for acrobatics established her value. Lesco made a lot of money off of her gripping stunts.

Bixlow disliked Enid on basic principle at first, but their mutual isolation and complimentary personalities quickly kindled a friendship that would erupt into an adolescent romance by age twelve. Their entire turbulent relationship was an intense one—despite the shrewd, selfish, deceptive traits their lives had conditioned into them, they understood from where the ugliness stemmed and reluctantly grew to love each other despite their limited emotional arsenals.

Enid assisted in Bixlow's training, teaching him everything she could about acrobatics. He never did have her knack for it, but between her playful lessons and Brent's ruthless training he learned quickly. It was also Enid who suggested her father include Bixlow in a very different sort of schooling when she realized he possessed unrefined magical potential.

It wasn't until these nightly sessions that Bixlow learned the truth behind Brent and Enid's abilities in the ring. Both of them had magic—it was a secret only they knew, hidden even from Lesco. Brent could use the souls of animals to influence their actions in the ring, hence his ease as the circus animal trainer. Enid's power was much subtler, and harder to describe—she said that she could sense the souls of people and other living things around her. It helped her navigate in her perpetual darkness, helped her tell if someone was lying, and generally told her how to behave around people according to their mood.

"For example," she said, "I can sense that you're shocked and very upset. But there's really nothing to be upset about. You've got magic, too, Bixlow. I know, because I can sense it in you. We want to help you cultivate it. No one will be able to hold you back. You could be whatever you want, do whatever you want. You'll never be helpless again."

It was an enticing argument, and even though Bixlow knew that Enid was likely using her power to pick out the right words to persuade him, he decided to embrace his newfound magic.

Brent and Enid poured everything they had into his lessons, and he realized after some time that it was because they were unsatisfied with their own magical abilities. Brent had practically perfected his hold on animal souls, but could never graduate to human souls. There was something about people, even the dead wandering souls of people, that he couldn't touch, and it infuriated him. He'd tried to teach Enid, and even though she was impossibly intuitive of human souls, she could do absolutely nothing to affect them. Outwardly, Enid was Brent's greatest achievement, but inside the private confines of their relationship she had irreparably disappointed him. To some degree, Bixlow suspected that Enid had offered him to her father as a sort of apology for her own shortcomings, as an alternative method of the legacy he so desired.

Unfortunately, magic did not come easily to him. It took two years of tutelage for him to show even the slightest improvement. He almost gave up completely one night, when he was trying to transfer a soul into a container. He'd been working on the assignment for months and had gotten nowhere. Enid sat by while he practiced, until finally he got so frustrated that he threw the container at a wall.

"Why's this so hard?!" he cried. "I've been at it forever, and I'm the same as I ever was! Do I even have magic, or did you just lie to me?!"

"Now why would I do that?" Enid sighed. "You definitely have magic, Bixlow. You're just practicing a difficult skill. This is something that even my dad can't do. It's going to take time."

"How _much_ time?"

Enid pursed her lips. "Maybe you just need a little bit of positive reinforcement."

"What are you—?"

And after Bixlow received his first kiss, he never had trouble transferring a soul into a container again. In fact, his skills with seith magic increased exponentially from that point forward. Brent seemed genuinely enthusiastic, and as Bixlow improved, so did Brent's obsession with teaching him. He began researching all sorts of skills, spells, and types of seith magic beyond his capabilities. As the schooling continued, the research strayed into darker territories. Something began to warp Brent's mind. He was harsher than ever, more liberal with his whip, excessively demanding.

One day, Bixlow found Enid crying under a tree, only minutes after they'd stopped the train. When he asked why, she said, "My dad told me to stop coming to our lessons because I can't keep up. I'm holding you back."

The lesson that night was sinister. Bixlow's moral boundaries were blurry, and he'd performed magic under Brent's guidance that he knew was probably wrong—voodoo spells, corpse possession, séances—but what Brent proposed breached even Bixlow's flexible ethics.

"I'm not doing this," he refused. "This is…this is just dark, Brent. It's evil. Anything to do with sacrifice is evil."

"It's not _human_ sacrifice," Brent sneered. "We just have to kill a stupid cat. When did you become so saintly?"

"This is wrong. And you know it's wrong, 'cause otherwise you wouldn't've told Enid to stay away. It's dangerous, it's evil, and she wouldn't do it. Neither am I."

Brent was so angry, he slaughtered the cat anyway. The ritual—Bixlow couldn't have even said what it was for—didn't work. Brent was too enraged to focus his magic, and even if he'd been calm, he wasn't powerful enough to be successful. Not alone, at least.

When Bixlow shared his concerns with Enid, she said she'd talk to her father about it. Bixlow had believed her—at that age, Enid was the only person in the world he trusted completely. Perhaps it was because he was, in his own way, in love with her, or maybe she just knew him so well that he only assumed he could predict her actions to the same degree. Regardless, Bixlow knew that Enid was the only person who could bring Brent back to reality, and he believed in her ability to do so. He never imagined just how much she yearned for the approval of her father, the only person she'd ever disappointed, her only real family since the death of her mother. He never guessed the damage Enid masked so well, the spark of desperate insanity that rippled just beneath the surface of her blank white stare.

The next day, Enid told Bixlow she'd talked to her father and that he'd even allowed her to rejoin their nightly lessons. "Don't worry," she'd assured him. "No more sacrifice."

Bixlow hadn't suspected anything later that night, when he walked into the makeshift stables. The horses were excited, but that wasn't unusual in the hustle and bustle of the deconstruction of the circus tents. The only ones left standing where the residential tents and the stables, since people and horses were relatively easy to load onto the train. Tonight was their last night in the pretty city of Magnolia, with its towering cathedral and big fancy guild. Bixlow liked it better than most towns, but he was anxious to get back on the tracks. He didn't like to stay in one place for long, and they'd been here for nearly two weeks.

He caught sight of Enid petting Hades, an enormous black stallion used for most of the equestrian stunts. "Maybe Brent should've named you Persephone," Bixlow called, grinning. He nodded at the horse. "Hades certainly seems to like you."

"Jealous?" Enid laughed.

"Maybe a—" Bixlow saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't have time to defend himself as the blunt metal object hit the back of his head and rendered him unconscious.

When he woke up, he was shirtless and chained down to the floor. Looking around he saw that he was in the center of a circle drawn with chalk, outlined by runes that oozed ancient power. There were seven dishes equally distributed around the circumference of the circle, each filled with a different substance. Water, soil, leaves, locks of his blue hair, a burning candle, an iron horseshoe, and, if the cut on his forearm was any indication, his blood.

"Hey!" he called. "Hey! What the hell's goin' on?! Anybody there?"

A figure materialized—it was Enid, looking guilty. "Hi, Bixlow."

"Enid, are you okay? What the hell are you doin'? Get me outta this!"

"I can't," she said. "I don't even know what 'this' is. I can't see you, and Dad's done all of the work so far. My only real job was to lure you here. I'm sorry."

Bixlow was silent, digesting her words. "Brent. He put you up to it, huh? Why would you—he's gonna sacrifice me or somethin'!"

"No, it's not what you think," Enid said. "Just keep an open mind, Bixlow. Everything Dad is doing is to help you—to help us. He's only trying to make you stronger, so we can finally leave the circus and start making our own decisions."

"What're you talkin' about? You love the circus. This is all Brent's bullshit."

"There's a better life for us out there," said Enid. Then her father appeared beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder. He looked down at Bixlow and nodded in accordance with her vague explanation.

"Listen to her, kid," he said. "She knows what she's talkin' about. Enid wouldn't let me hurt you if it weren't for the greater good."

Bixlow felt panic rising up in him. He struggled with the chains, but they were secure. He didn't like this talk about hurting him, or the greater good, or a better life. He was fine with his current life. "The hell, Brent! Let me outta here! Let me go!"

"You'll thank us for this later, Bixlow."

The father and daughter got to work. Enid walked carefully around the circle, murmuring memorized chants in a language that was ugly and guttural and that Bixlow didn't understand. He struggled, he screamed, he even begged her to stop, but Enid was unwavering. The shadows in the stables coalesced into savage monsters, consuming each other, lashing out with fangs and claws, violently copulating in the corners. They attacked the horses, tugging on their manes and scratching at their hides. They avoided Enid, but approached Bixlow ravenously—and silently shrieked when they couldn't get through the circle.

Brent had disappeared, but came back again after about an hour of Enid's maddening, incessant incantations and Bixlow's cries for help. He carried a branding iron in one hand, with a strange humanoid shape with arms raised upward glowing white-hot on the end. It gave off an ungodly heat, heavy and sulfuric, that Bixlow could feel even as Brent approached. The light was unnaturally bright, a dying star on the end of the metal rod. The horses reeled, the shadows thrashed, and panic gripped Bixlow by the throat.

The animal trainer approached slowly, one footstep at a time, unconcerned about losing the heat. Enid continued chanting, her voice raising in pitch and speed as Brent came near. He stopped when the toe of his boot brushed the chalk circle, and so did Enid. They stood face-to-face, on either side of Bixlow, silently. Enid reached out, and Brent guided her hands to the handle of the branding rod.

Then, together, they brought the burning iron to Bixlow's face.

It landed on the space between his eyes and the bridge of his nose, the enchanted iron molding to the contours of his bone structure, the molten man embracing his skin. If Bixlow hadn't already been screaming, he would have forgotten how. The pain was indescribable. It didn't come from the brand—it came up from inside of him, his own body eating him from the inside out. He ached, he burned, the hay on the ground was needles, the chains were breaking his bones, the air rubbed him raw. Bixlow felt pain in places he hadn't even known existed. He felt pain outside of himself. There wasn't enough of him to contain it all.

When he opened his eyes, he was blind.

No, not blind. Blinded by light. He blinked, but the light didn't disappear. It was blotchy on his vision and moved around in different directions, but he could make out the faded pattern on the cloth roof of the makeshift stable.

"He's waking up," Enid's voice came from the left.

Bixlow closed his eyes as two suns erupted into existence. A small calloused hand gently touched his arm. He squinted, and made out Brent and Enid behind their shining skin.

"Whatja do t'me?" he groaned. He ached all over, but his face was on fire.

"We gave you a special power," Brent explained. "It's something only you could handle. I don't have the right abilities for it, and Enid is blind. It'll hurt, but don't worry, it's already starting to heal. You'll have a mark on your face, but it's not subtracting from much."

Bixlow was too groggy to be insulted. "What power?"

"It's called Figure Eyes. I found it in some ancient texts I bought when we stopped in Balsam Town. Bixlow, you can see souls now. You can actually, physically _see_ them." Brent gripped his arm, excited. "Tell us, what do they look like?"

Bixlow opened his eyes, focusing on the lights. They were like illuminated clouds floating gently in the stables, intermingling and mixing. Brent and Enid, in comparison, were shamelessly brilliant.

"It's…glowing," he told them. He closed his eyes. "Shit…what the hell did you do to me?"

Brent undid his chains. Enid helped him sit up, her small hand firmly guiding his back. He tried to look at her, but she was just too bright. Perhaps he'd never be able to look at her again.

"What we've given you is a gift," Brent said as they helped Bixlow stand. He wobbled, but managed to maintain his balance. "It's overwhelming now, but you'll learn to appreciate it. Hell, you'll thank us for it one day."

Bixlow scowled. He shoved Brent across the room and shrugged Enid off of him. "I'll never _thank_ you for this, you piece of shit. You chained me to the floor—you performed a demonic ritual on me against my will! Enid couldn't see what she was doin', she couldn't see those…those _things_, but you sure as hell could, you bastard."

"I knew perfectly well what I was doing," Enid snapped, going to her father's side. "I may be blind, Bixlow, but I'm not stupid, and I'm not as gullible or weak as you seem to think I am."

"No, but you _are_ blind. And apparently in more ways than one," Bixlow growled. "Didn't you stop and think just once that maybe your asshole father had me chained to a floor because he knew I wouldn't want this? Forget about it being demonic—the root of evil, by the way—the important thing is that you freakin' forced it on me. You've given me this so-called 'gift,' but what the hell am I supposed to do with it now, Enid? I don't want it, and it's not like I can return it. I can barely fuckin' open my eyes because the lights are so bright!"

Brent stepped forward. "What you do now is you train, with us, and we'll learn to manage—"

"Shut up!" Bixlow saw green, and Brent's body lurched into the stables, hitting the ground with a hard thump. They stared at each other, stunned, while Enid's gaping face struggled to make sense of the strange silence.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"My body just...moved," Brent said, standing up. "By itself, without my control. Bixlow, how did you do that?"

"I don't know, I didn't do anything. It just happened." Panic gripped Bixlow harder than ever. His chest began to rise and fall rapidly as the air became thinner and the horses snickered nervously. "What the hell did you two _do_ to me?! You said I'd see souls, you never said anything about me controlling _people_!"

"The texts I read said nothing about controlling people either," Brent said thoughtfully. "I don't know what you're so upset about, boy. This is even better than I imagined. Just think of everything we can do now."

"No! No, there's no 'we' anymore!" Bixlow yelled. "You didn't even do enough research to know what your curse did before you branded a rune onto my forehead! You can go fuck yourself for all I care, I'm leaving tomorrow! Tonight, dammit!"

"Bixlow, calm down," Enid murmured.

"Don't fuckin' tell me to calm down!" His vision flashed again, but it didn't seem to affect Enid. She approached hesitantly, her arms held out until her hands brushed his arms. Her touch was soothing to him, like it always was, but Bixlow noticed a flicker in the light under her skin, a slight cool color shift. It dawned on him, with creeping horror, that she was using her magic to sedate him like one might tranquillize a wild animal.

Enid felt the overwhelming rage, but she couldn't escape before Bixlow's hand was wrapped around her throat. Her gentle fingers became claws as they scratched at his grip and she gasped for breath, her blind eyes searching aimlessly. Bixlow could feel her panic leaching into him. "You told me you couldn't directly alter people's emotions," he snarled. "You lying bitch. I trusted you."

"I've never done it to you," she wheezed faintly, shaking her head. "Just this time, I swear. I didn't want your new gift to get out of control, that's it."

"You're lying! You lied to me about even having the power, so how can I believe you when you say you've never used it?!"

Her blind eyes seemed to find his own cursed ones. "Bixlow," she squeaked. "Please."

Bixlow grit his teeth and made his fingers unclench, letting her throat slip from his grasp. Just then he felt something in his peripheral, and turned to see the spike coming down on his back. His vision filled with green, and Brent's arm jerked away from Bixlow, the sharp iron point moving away from its target. Plunging, unhindered, into the soft unsuspecting flesh of Enid's stomach.

She didn't even have the time to scream. She was too shocked, too taken back from the blow that she couldn't see coming. Her hands went to the iron spike, her little pale fingers wrapped around it, identifying the object that had just killed her. She fell to her knees onto the dirty ground. Blood dribbled from her mouth, and a single word slid down her chin with it, a question of heartbreaking uncertainty and disbelief: "Bixlow?"

"Oh, god," Bixlow cried. He fell down beside her and caught her shoulders as she sank. "Enid, oh god, Enid." He fumbled with the spike, but he didn't want to pull it out. He didn't know what to do. Blood was gushing from the wound, and he knew that whatever he did would only make it worse. Her eyes flickered closed. Bixlow looked up at Brent, who could only stare at his daughter as though she were dying behind a pane of glass. "What are you standing there for? Do somethin'! Go get Lesco, go get a doctor, fuckin' do _somethin'_!"

Brent didn't seem to register anything Bixlow said. He just stared and stared, stuck on the horrific puzzle in front of him. The light in Enid was fading. Bixlow struggled to think of something, anything to do. He focused all of his energy on her dying soul and imagined himself pulling it from her body, the little opalescent cloud of consciousness. It gathered at her center and slipped out of the wound, hovering in the air like the hundreds of other souls around it. Under him, Enid's lungs took their last breath and her heart gave its last beat. Her body died. Bixlow didn't know if her soul survived because of him, or because that's what souls did when their bodies died. He tried to clutch it in his hands, but it slipped through his fingers. He didn't have a container to store her in, or a soul glass to keep her safe. There was only one thing he could think of that might keep her alive.

Bixlow took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and guided Enid's soul into his own body.

As she entered, chaos erupted inside of him. There wasn't enough room in Bixlow's head for both of them. They squirmed, trying to fit, taking over separate parts of his body. Bixlow was deaf for a second; then he couldn't feel his right hand; then his vision blacked out. He could feel Enid scrambling trying to make sense of everything. He caught glimpses of her consciousness, bits of memory: a woman's soft voice, the feel of the tightrope under his feet, the touch of his own lips. They were both too compressed, too crowded. It was impossible to share. Bixlow's undamaged, newly blessed soul was stronger than Enid's half-dead one. He tried not to push her, but he did it anyway, and he could feel her beginning to crack.

Enid erupted from him, relieving the pressure. His vision was blurry, but Bixlow could see her soul reeling into the atmosphere in random bursts and gusts. In a last desperate attempt to save her, he used his magic to force her soul back into her dead body. Then he crawled over to her, head splitting, and tried to revive her.

He had plugged her nose and was breathing into her when Lesco burst into the tent with two other workers to investigate the noise. He was startled when he saw the gruesome scene before him, his eyes darting from the circle to Enid and Bixlow all covered with blood. "What the hell happened?!" he cried.

Finally, Brent snapped out of his stupor. His face twisted into disgust, and he grabbed Bixlow by the hair, pulling him to his feet. "This _bastard_," he growled, "this _urchin_ has murdered my daughter!"

"What happened to him? To his face?" one of the workers exclaimed.

"_You_ murdered her, you piece of shit!" Bixlow screeched. "You stabbed her with the stake!"

"And who was controlling me? Who was controlling my actions?!"

"It's not my fault!" Bixlow's eyes flashed green and he was released. Brent shot across the stables and hit a wooden beam, his head cracking against the sharp edge. He fell on the ground and did not stir.

The stables were quiet. Even the horses were silent. Bixlow stared at Brent's limp form. He turned and gazed at Enid's dead face. Then he looked to Lesco, futilely depending on the mercy he'd never once given or received.

"Boys," Lesco said gravely, "grab the murderer."

Bixlow scrambled up off the ground as the two men came at him. He reached inside himself and forced the Figure Eyes out this time, sending the men flying a few feet. Then he ran in the opposite direction, ducking under the cloth of the tent and away from the circus, his home, his life. He ran into Magnolia Town. He knew Lesco and his cronies wouldn't follow. The circus didn't get involved with the Rune Knights, or with the law. Lesco would bury Enid on the side of the train tracks, and Brent, too, if he was also dead. He wouldn't even mark their graves. And as long as he never saw Bixlow again, Lesco would consider him as good as dead, too.

Bixlow ran until he couldn't run anymore. He hoped as he curled up on the bench of a bus stop that someone would find him, a Rune Knight, a city official, and that they'd see the blood on him and they would arrest him and sentence him to death. That's all he wanted. But no one did notice him.

No one, except for a little old man and a little bit of mercy.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**(A Very Apologetic) Au****thor's Note: Guys, let me just say this now.**

**I am so, so sorry.**

**It's been a ridiculously long wait for this chapter, I'm aware. I won't lie to you and say it won't happen again, because it probably will. Several months ago, I was one of those innocent little high school writers who held others in contempt for their hiatuses and discontinued stories and long gaps between updates. I told myself, "When I graduate, I'll definitely make time for writing in college. I won't be one of those slackers." Well. Clearly, I was a fool.**

**I won't dodge the contempt. I'll embrace it. I started my freshman year of college in August, and it has kept me very busy. I never have the time, energy, or motivation to write fanfiction. Perhaps this will fade. I've no idea how college works, really. But honestly, waiting weeks or even months for updates will probably become a common inconvenience if I am to maintain the quality of my work, which I fully intend to do. However, I don't intend to discontinue this story, so fear not - it will be written. But, in the interest of time and effort, I'm just going to make this a blanket apology from here on out, as we handle this together, as writer and reader.**

**I'd like to thank all the readers who still continue to read and support me. You guys are my rock. You are what keeps this partnership together.**

**I promise I'm not reading from a pamphlet.**

**Onward!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"So," Lisanna began as she, Natsu, and Pantherlily began to scale the mountain. She had to scream over the howling wind and the wet smack of snowflakes pouring from the sky. "How exactly do we find Erza and the others?"

"Easy," Natsu yelled back. His scaly white scarf was wrapped around his head to keep the blizzard out of his eyes, but aside from that he wore only his usual scant clothes. Lisanna supposed his dragonslayer magic must keep him warm, but she still shivered for him at the sight of all that exposed skin. He glanced at her and grinned, showing a lot of pointed teeth, but no tongue. "They're also looking for us, right? All we gotta do is show 'em where we are."

With that, Natsu looked up at the sky and roared fire at the low gray clouds. The column of flame spiraled high even in the cold of the storm, illuminating the entire mountainside.

"That will certainly get their attention," Pantherlily remarked.

"Don't you think they'll figure out it's a trap?" Lisanna wondered.

Pantherlily expanded before her eyes, growing into the tall, muscular Exceed that served in Edolas. He drew his legendary sword, Bustermarm, and pointed it up near the peak of Mt. Hakobe. "I don't think they care."

Lisanna followed his gaze, and braced herself as three Fairy Tail mages landed on top of Natsu. Their impact disrupted the snow and flame, but Natsu leapt from the smokescreen unharmed, crouching in front of Lisanna and Pantherlily.

Erza was the first to emerge from the mist, glittering magnificently in her armor. Her eyes were completely black, and her skin white and papery. Two other figures emerged after her—Gray, dressed down to his boxers, and the hulking shadow of Elfman. Lisanna scowled, changing into her tiger form. Her brother's gaze didn't linger on her. There was no recognition in those pitch black eyes.

"We meet again, humans," Erza said. Her eyes landed on Lisanna and her mouth turned up into a smirk. "You've beckoned us here to you. Will you not run away this time? Will you stand here and fight a hopeless fight?"

"We'll do what it takes to get our friends back," Natsu answered.

"So be it. This will be the last time we cross paths." Like silver lightning, Erza was gone. Lisanna barely had time to gasp before she noticed the Titania coming for her, but Pantherlily blocked the demon's path. Their swords clanged together, steel on steel, and the Exceed grinned at the sweet note.

"Oh, no you don't," he growled, parrying her blow. Erza glared at him, clutching her sword in two hands. "You're mine, demon. That's my sparring partner you've got a hold of. Let's see if she goes easy on me when we duel."

Pantherlily charged, urging Erza back. Natsu was already taking on Gray in a whirlwind of fire and ice. Lisanna swallowed the lump in her throat and turned toward her opponent, who was watching her with a smirk on his face.

"You're related to this lumbering oaf," the demon said. He smirked. "Younger sister?"

"That's right," said Lisanna. She got into a defensive stance.

"Oh? You're not going to make the first move?"

"You're in my brother's body. I intend to get you out, but to be honest I'd rather not do it by force and risk hurting Elfman. So I'm going to ask you to please leave. If you do, I'll let you go in peace."

The demon tipped back his head and laughed Elfman's booming laugh. It was the reaction Lisanna expected, but she had to try appealing to the demon before she attacked. She was at a severe disadvantage: Elfman was a much stronger mage than she, and her reluctance to injure his body would only make it more difficult to win the fight. The demon probably knew this, too, but there was no harm in trying to solve their problem diplomatically.

"You are a silly girl," the demon snarled after he was finished guffawing. "You've amused me, so I will not use your brother's hands to desecrate and ravage your delicious body when I kill you. How does that sound?"

"You won't kill me. I can't lose this fight, not when my brother's life depends on it. For him, I refuse to die."

"Oh, stupid child," the demon murmured, almost piteously. "It doesn't work that way."

Then Elfman charged. Lisanna dodged his meaty arms and swiped at his side, leaving three long scratches along his abdomen. He roared and his fist made contact with her back, sending her sprawling into the snow. He grabbed her by the ankle, and Lisanna screamed and clawed at the ground as he hauled her into the air by her leg. She transformed into a bird and went for his face, but he knocked her beak aside. She hit the ground in tiger form again, face on fire and blood dripping from her nose. Lisanna pounced, but Elfman caught her and pinned her down, slamming her into the hard ice. She growled and dug her claws into his arms, but it didn't seem to faze him. His hands gripped her short white hair, but she managed to clamp down on his wrist with her fanged teeth. Elfman howled and slapped her across the face so hard that stars erupted across her vision. He took her throat in his uninjured and hand squeezed, lifting her to get a better grip. Lisanna lunged at him, scratching Elfman's unscarred cheek. He released her, and she pounced again, this time with greater success. They fell back into the snow, Lisanna's claws sunk into her brother's chest.

"What's wrong?" she cried triumphantly. "Can't use his magic, can you? No, they gave all his monster souls to the Devourer. You're just a plain vanilla human. You've got no power at all."

Elfman gritted his teeth and tried to attack, but Lisanna tightened her grip. He cried out in pain, which made Lisanna wince, but she knew she couldn't let go yet. It wasn't really her brother. It wasn't really Elfman. She took one set of claws out with a sticky sucking sound, and raised the bloody paw into the air, aiming for the temple like Bixlow said he'd done to her. _Once you knock them unconscious, the demon will probably come out_.

This demon didn't wait so long. Elfman's mouth stretched wide open and a giant scorpion's tail came shooting out. Lisanna moved out of the way just in time, but the venomous appendage still grazed her cheek. It sent searing pain across her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed, pressing her hands against the cut.

Her eyes were watering when she turned to look at the demon that had possessed her brother's body. It was a creature of clicking claws and angular joints, tentacles gushing from its mouth and its sharp scorpion's tail poised for attack. It hissed at her and lunged again, even faster than before. Lisanna dodged and latched on to the tail, pinning the creature to the ground. It tried to sweep her off of her feet, but Lisanna was too quick. She twisted the tail in her paws and hacked at it with her claws, clutching onto it for dear life as the demon shrieked in pain. It managed to buck her off, but too late. The scorpion's tail writhed in the snow for several seconds before it went limp.

The demon snarled and nursed its wound, black blood bubbling in the snow. Lisanna rushed forward while its back was turned. The creature swung around and gripped her foot in its crab claw, but Lisanna had her own grip on its back. She transformed her leg and slid out of his grasp, climbed up the swinging backside of the creature as it tried to grab her. Its tentacles wrapped around her arms when she finally found its neck, cutting of the flow of blood to her appendages. She gritted her teeth and twisted as hard as she could, trying desperately to break the thing's neck, to crush its throat, anything she could do. The tentacles wrapped tighter around her, twisting together in intricate, slimy knots. Lisanna grinned viciously and yanked back on them. The creature coughed, and realized with sudden horror that it was choking itself. It tried to retract its tentacles, but they were too interlocked. After several seconds, the creature fell to the ground, unconscious, trying to crush Lisanna in the process.

She stayed constricted around the demon for several more seconds to ensure it's state. Then she untangled herself and crawled out from under it. Every part of her was throbbing in pain: her body's fight with Bixlow, the Vulcans, and Enid, not to mention her drop into the ice, was catching up with her.

"Lisanna!" Natsu jogged over to meet her, Gray's soulless body slung over his shoulders. He looked around until his eyes landed on the demon. "Is it dead?"

"Not yet. Is yours?"

"Yeah, he was a wimp. Even more wimpy than Gray." Natsu placed his rival down carefully in the snow next to Elfman. He walked over to the unconscious demon. "I'll burn him up, alright? It's quick."

Lisanna nodded. Natsu blasted the demon with fire until it was nothing more than a spot of ashes in a pool of blood. She turned away from the carnage and stumbled over to her brother's frigid form, gently touching his still, scarred face. Was her brother's soul really lost? Would he remain an empty vessel forever, just like he'd feared for her only days before?

Natsu planted a warm hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find him grinning his carefree grin. "Bixlow and Gajeel won't stop until they've saved everyone," he said.

"I know," Lisanna replied. She was almost as worried about Bixlow as she was about Elfman - but she wouldn't tell Natsu. She stood up instead and looked around. "Where's Lily?"

"Here." The cat climbed up the steep hill to join them, still in his large muscular warrior form. He carried Erza's body in one arm like one might carry a child. In his other hand as the headless body of the demon who'd possessed her. He threw it into the snow and set Erza's body next to Gray's. "That demon was a disgrace to Scarlet's body."

"They're all a disgrace," said Natsu.

"What do we do with their bodies?" Lisanna asked. "We need to go help Bixlow and Gajeel, but we can't leave them alone."

"You and Lily can stay with them in a cave," said Natsu. "I still need to find Lucy."

"No need," said Pantherlily. He pointed up at the white sky. The other two followed his gaze until their eyes focused on the approaching blue dot sailing toward them. They grinned when they realized it was Happy, and in his arms he carried Lucy's unconscious form.

He landed roughly, his wings blinking out of existence a few feet from the ground. Natsu caught them in his arms, but underestimated the velocity of their fall and ended up toppling over into the snowy banks. The three nakama landed in a heap, Lucy sprawled every which way, Happy wheezing under her legs, and Natsu, of course, asphyxiating under the pillow of her bosom.

"Found her," he said, voice muffled.

"We can see that," Pantherlily remarked wryly.

"What happened?" Lisanna asked Happy while Lily gently untangled the unconscious blonde from her two companions.

Happy relayed the story in his usual flurried manner, making grand gestures with his little blue paws as he described the explosion and his heroic efforts to rescue not only Gajeel and Bixlow as they fell into the abyss, but also Lucy from the clutches of the Phasm mage. "They told me to get her away, so that's what I did," Happy finished. "I was looking for a safe place to put her body when I saw you guys."

"What about Bixlow and Gajeel?" Lisanna inquired.

"They were fighting the mages when I left," Happy confirmed.

"We need to go help them," said Lisanna, turning to Natsu. Now that all the hostages' bodies were safe, their souls were everyone's primary concern. Natsu nodded in agreement.

"We'll get them to a safe place. Then we'll go."

Together, the four of them carried the bodies to a cave that Natsu inspected to ensure it was neither an entrance to Phasm's lair nor a Vulcan dwelling. Pantherlily set to work making a fire to keep frostbite away from the bodies. He volunteered to stay behind to guard them. "They need someone who can defend them," he said, eyeing Lisanna's heavy damage. The comment was probably warranted. She hurt all over, and she no doubt looked as bad as she felt. But nothing was going to stop her from joining Natsu in the fight.

That's what she told everyone when they suggested she stay with Pantherlily. No one argued. Happy stayed instead.

Lisanna knelt beside Elfman's body before they left. She took one of this meaty hands in both of her own. "Don't worry, Elf-nii. I promise we're going to stop Phasm and get your souls back. We won't be gone long." She gave his hand a squeeze, and forced herself to believe that he could feel the pressure.

* * *

There was a pressure in Bixlow's chest. When he opened his eyes, he half expected to find someone sitting on him. But there was no one. In fact, even his clothes were gone; he was lying naked in a dark room illuminated only by one of the creepy white torches. There was a Phasm mage sitting under it, hood of their robes pulled up over their head. Bixlow scowled and sat up. His body throbbed.

"Where the fuck am I?" he growled.

Long red curls spilled out from the hood as the Phasm mage pulled it back. Enid looked straight ahead, her filmy white eyes almost focused on Bixlow. The three scratches were vivid against her pale freckled face in the silver light. "How should I know?" she responded dryly.

Bixlow swallowed the emotion that built up in his throat as he drank in the details of her face. Her summer face, now a harsh desert. The years of madness had sapped away her beauty. Enid was nothing but a husk of her former self. _And whose fault is that?_

"What are you doing here?" he said instead.

"I'm your guard," she replied. "We were going to give your soul to the Devourer, but when Brother Hugh removed your helmet and saw the rune on your face, he decided you were worth more to us alive. He put me in charge of you because I'm blind, and your magic has no effect on me."

"Where's Gajeel?"

"Your metal friend didn't have a rune on _his_ face." Enid tilted her head. "I told you that thing would help you one day, didn't I? Aren't you glad you have it now? I imagine it's what has made you such a powerful mage. Hasn't it?"

Bixlow grit his teeth. "I don't use it unless I have to."

"Lies. You may not use the Figure Eyes, but there's no way you can control your Soul Sight. That's all part of the gift, Bixlow."

"This wasn't a _gift_," Bixlow hissed, pointing at his face. "This was a curse you and your twisted psycho-fuck of a father inflicted on me. My only blessing was that Makarov Dreyar pulled me off the street that night. The only gift I've ever got in this life was Fairy Tail."

Enid was silent.

"What happened to you? How...how are you still alive?" Bixlow whispered. He scooted forward, wanting to reach out to her, but a tendril of shadow lashed out from the darkness and secured his hand to the ground, nearly yanking his shoulder out of its socket. Enid stood up very deliberately. Her posture was calm, but her eyes were wide with rage.

"Are you disappointed, Bixlow?" she whispered. "Is my existence not a _gift_ to you? Of course not. You have the beast whore. I'm sure she's from your precious Fairy Tail, isn't she? The night you left - that's when you joined them. You certainly move fast, don't you?" The flame on the torch flickered violently, and became a deadly crimson dancer. Enid's shadows flitted around the cave walls, scratching at themselves, moving toward Bixlow in little packs, writhing in ecstasy and torment.

"What else was I supposed to do?" Bixlow cried. "You were dead! Brent told them I killed you!"

"Didn't you?!" Enid screamed. "Wasn't it your Figure Eyes that controlled my father's arms when he plunged that spike into my stomach? Wasn't it your Figure Eyes that hurled his body against the stables and left him paralyzed? Do you know what Lesco did to cripples who couldn't work, Bixlow? _Do you?!_"

"That wasn't my fault!" Bixlow snarled. "You're forgetting why Brent picked up that spike in the first place! What else was I supposed to do, Enid? I didn't have control over my Figure Eyes. It was self-defense. That's all it was. That's why I ran. If I could've taken you with me, I would've. I _tried_. But you were already gone. When I tried to take your soul...I didn't have a soul glass. I didn't know what else to do." Bixlow dug his palms into his eyes. A green haze appeared under his eyelids. "I'll say this, Enid. I won't apologize for what I did to Brent. He earned that. But I am so, so fucking sorry about what I did to you."

Enid turned her face away, just like she did when they used to fight as children and she couldn't think of anything else to say. The shadows slithered back into their submissive corners. Bixlow had never apologized to her for anything, but he'd always done something to make it up to her. He set his chin and slowly stood up, taking one wobbly step forward. Enid didn't stop him as he took another, and another, until he was standing close enough to touch her.

But he didn't.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm sorry that it was my Figure Eyes that caused the accident. I'm sorry that I violated your soul the way that I did. I didn't know any better. I didn't know the darkness of what I was doin', I didn't know the pain I was causin' you. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. It's my biggest regret."

Enid turned her face toward him. "You're soft. You never used to regret anything."

"I was a kid. I never did anything worth regretting."

"You're as ignorant as a kid if you think that apologies will get you out of this dungeon."

Bixlow shook his head. "I don't think that. You deserve to hear this. These are words I've said to your ghost over and over again."

"I was never a ghost," Enid whispered.

"You haunted me."

The Phasm mage was silent for a long stretch of time. Bixlow knew it was impossible, but it seemed like her blind eyes bored right into his soul as she stared at him in the silver torchlight. They were two white moons in the shadow of her face. For a moment, her eyes almost seemed familiar. Hesitantly, he reached out and took her hand. It was cold as ice, but just as delicate and small has he remembered.

She snatched it away without malice, but with a pragmatic certainty that left no room for love. Her dim, broken little soul fluttered inside her body, but Bixlow knew that Enid's ice would never melt.

"I wanted you dead," she told him blandly. "I wanted Hugh to kill you. I didn't even want your soul in the Devourer. I didn't want you to live on in there, although it might have been the crueler option. I just wanted you gone from the world. I wanted you to disappear, more than I've ever wanted anything. Hugh never listens to me. He just likes the chaos inside of me. He thinks that if he gives me what I want, it will subdue me, and that's exactly what he despises. So he teases me, and he torments me, and he does exactly the opposite of what I say, no matter how hard I beg for it." Enid turned away and walked toward the torch. "But this time, when I told him about that damn rune on your face, when I begged for your life, he listened. I don't know why I thought I could trick him." She looked back and pointed to the robes. "He's given you a choice. Join us, or end up like your metal friend."

"I won't join you," said Bixlow immediately. He shook his head. "Why did you join him? If this Hugh bastard does all this fucked up shit to you, why do you stay? That's not the Enid I remember."

"Isn't it, though? I've always had an affinity for toxic men. But in this case, I don't really have a choice. I never actively joined. And I'm glad you're not joining." She looked once more at the torch, the light casting a silver-gold halo around her head. "You don't need any more regrets."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Your friends are here to rescue you."

Bixlow opened his eyes and peeked at Enid, who sat once more under the torch with her hood drawn up. He laid in the center of the room, naked, the Phasm robes folded neatly near his feet.

"What?" he said.

"Your friends. I'm assuming they're your friends. It's the pink dragonslayer and the beast whore. They are lurking in the caves, trying to rescue you and your metal comrade, I imagine."

Bixlow frowned. If the Salamander and Lisanna were in the caves without Pantherlily, they must have defeated the possessed Fairy Tail members. He'd hoped Lisanna would've stayed to protect her brother's body, but he'd known it was unlikely. Elfman's soul was much more important to her than his body. "How d'you know?"

"There's a reason I'm security detail." The shadows flickered against the walls eagerly. Enid sighed. "It's my job to monitor who enters."

"Why are you tellin' me?" Bixlow asked skeptically.

"Because I thought you might want to know. I'll tell you when they die, too, so you won't have a false hope of them actually succeeding."

"Don't underestimate Fairy Tail," Bixlow warned.

"We've already conquered more than ten of you. Two mages are nothing, even if one of them is a dragonslayer."

"Yeah, well, this dragonslayer's pretty fuckin' kick-ass. And he's got a better partner than Gajeel did."

Enid peered at him from under the hood. "The beast whore, you mean? She didn't seem particularly powerful to me. And she's injured quite severely, now. She won't last long against Hugh."

"Lisanna won't quit until she's got her brother's soul back," Bixlow stated.

"Death doesn't care about determination. How foolish has this guild made you?"

"Hasn't made me a fool," said Bixlow. He leaned back and closed his eyes again. "Taught me how to believe, that's all."

"Faith is foolishness."

"Faith is only as foolish as the thing you're believin' in. And trust me, Enid, these people ain't fools." Bixlow's brow crinkled. "Okay, they're maybe fifty percent fool. That other half is bad ass, though."

"I'm sure you fit right in."

Bixlow lifted his head up and grinned at her. "Hey, you think I'm a bad ass."

"I put you in the fool category."

"Hmph." Bixlow flopped back down. "C'mon, there's gotta be somethin' you believe in. You used to worship the ground Brent walked on. Used to believe in me, I'd like to think."

"Clearly, I was a foolish girl."

"There's gotta be somethin'."

Enid sighed through her nose. "I believe that the world is chaos. This order that humanity tries to impose upon natural chaos is futile. Eventually, everything succumbs to anarchy."

"That's fuckin' morbid," Bixlow snorted.

"It is what Lord Zeref preached," Enid said. "It's what I've been taught to believe, and my experiences have only reinforced his ideals. When the Devourer of Lost Souls is awakened, you will see."

"Yeah, well, that won't happen."

Enid laughed darkly. "I never imagined that you would be a champion for order, Bixlow."

"I'm not," he replied. "I'm a fifty-fifty sort of guy. I'm a champion for balance."

"And tell me," said Enid skeptically, "have you in your life ever encountered true balance?"

Bixlow's mind strayed into the flickering darkness of a secluded cave on the side of a mountain, to rough fingertips warming soft shivering skin, and kisses chipping away his doubts.

"No," he answered.

* * *

Lisanna nervously hovered behind Natsu as he peeked down the gaping pit at the end of one of the tunnels. He was notoriously clumsy, and if the contorted robed figures at the bottom of the pit were any indication, even Natsu wouldn't survive that fall.

"This looks like the place Happy described," Natsu remarked, squinting in the darkness. One of his fists was lit, but even his dragonslayer flame wasn't enough to completely illuminate the cavern. Lisanna figured it was probably the overwhelmingly thick miasma clumping around them in oily clouds. For once, she was glad of it—she didn't want to see the bodies in detail.

Signs of the struggle where everywhere, but there was no sign of Bixlow or Gajeel. All of the defeated were Phasm mages. There were a great number of them, but despite the seemingly reassuring count, something did not sit well with Lisanna. "We should keep looking," she said.

"But where?" Natsu asked, frowning at the grisly scene. "We don't have any clues where they went."

"You can't smell either of them?"

Natsu shook his head. "Not over this miasma."

Lisanna put a hand on her hip and inspected the edge of the pit more closely. There had to be some indication of where Bixlow and Gajeel had gone. She'd almost decided to choose a random tunnel when she noticed it—marks in the dirt near one of the openings. "There," she said, pointing it out to Natsu.

They walked to the tunnel Lisanna had picked out. Natsu's fire threw the faint tracks into relief. Lisanna clasped her hands together, brow furrowing. "It looks like…"

"Someone dragged something heavy down this tunnel," Natsu finished. He pointed at dark speckles on the rock. "A body. That smells like Gajeel's blood. Lots of iron."

"Oh, no," Lisanna whispered. Gajeel was incredibly powerful. Was Phasm really so strong, to have defeated the most ferocious members of Fairy Tail? And if they'd defeated Gajeel, there was no hope for Bixlow in his state. He could have used his Figure Eyes, but if he had, he would have made sure Gajeel was safe, too. "Any sign of Bixlow?"

"No. Looks like they only dragged one body, and I only smell Gajeel's blood. But I'm not super familiar with Bixlow's smell," Natsu said. "Maybe Bixlow was the one who dragged Gajeel away. You know, to regroup after they kicked everybody's ass?"

"There's only one way to find out," Lisanna said.

They entered the tunnel, following the trail of blood. It wasn't obvious—just a few drops here, a spatter pattern there—but it was enough to make Lisanna worry. She worried about Gajeel's welfare, about Bixlow's absence, about whether the blood was a trail or a trap. She worried about Elfman's soul and his empty body, about Mira's oblivious predicament, and about her own battered condition. With every step she took, a new worry entered her mind.

Natsu put a warm hand on the back of her neck. It shooed some of the worries away. "You okay?" he asked, frowning. "You're turning green."

"Yeah, I'm just...I'm fine. Let's move on."

"Stay focused," Natsu advised. "Don't let this miasma get to you. It's pretty thick, now. Stay close—the fire helps some." He paused and turned his head toward the darkness of the tunnel. "I hear something."

Lisanna listened, and very faintly she could hear a murmuring of voices. They crept forward, and as they did the voices grew louder. Natsu dimmed his flame until there was just enough to illuminate the next step of their journey. Chanting caressed them from all sides, dancing with the eerie thrum of the miasma. It was so thick, Lisanna could hardly breathe. She tucked her nose under her enchanted scarf, but even Fried's runes did little to keep the oily stench at bay. She began to shiver all over, like someone had thrown her back into the frozen lake. Even Natsu let out a tiny shudder as they neared the source of the noise.

The tunnel opened into the stomach of Mt. Hakobe. It was larger than the Fairy Tail guild, made of shiny black stone that was smoothed into a perfect orb with a flat bottom. Around one hundred cloaked figures swayed in synchrony around the center of the room, evil doctrines sliding from their mouths. The suffocating miasma pulsed with every word, forming little evanescent creatures in the shadows. The Phasm mages surrounded a huge seal carved into the rock, an intricate knot of hypnotic spirals and jagged lines. It glowed faint gray-blue, the color of a drowned corpse. The rock was transparent around the seal. Sometimes Lisanna caught a glimpse of a face shape, but even though she couldn't make out the features, she could still sense the horrible, yearning hunger from inside.

"The Devourer," she breathed.

Natsu scowled. "They're all distracted. We could take them down."

"No," Lisanna said, grabbing his arm. "If we do that, we'll only draw attention to ourselves. We need to find the others first."

"What if their souls are in there?" Natsu pointed out, jerking his head toward the seal.

"Then we'll have to come up with another plan, because without Bixlow to kill the familiar, we have no way of helping anyone," Lisanna said. "We shouldn't be here. We're just wasting time."

"Where do we look now? The trail ended here."

Lisanna's eyes moved toward the room, and widened. She covered her mouth and pointed at the seal, where a man with a red cloak carried Gajeel in his arms like he was made of cotton. Natsu followed her gazed and tensed up, ready to pounce.

The man laid Gajeel down in the middle of the seal. It thrummed, and the face beneath the rock became more distinct, two big black eyes and a wide red mouth appearing from its sickly flesh. It pressed its gaping mouth around Gajeel's body. A sorrowful sigh shook the mountain when the barrier blocked its path. The Phasm mages chanted more quickly, and the man in the red cloak stepped from the seal, linking his arms with two and joining them in their swaying motions. His voice boomed above the fray, magnified by his obvious authority. The seal shined brighter, and the demon's horrid, flaccid face rose again to knock against the rock. It let out a moan of desperate longing.

Gajeel glowed the same dead color as the seal. Something began to leach out of him—it was indescribable, invisible almost, just a shift in the shade of the light, a density in the air, making it somehow brighter, more alive. The irregularity slid down the contours of the seal, following its swirls and lines.

"That's his soul," Lisanna gasped. "They're feeding it his soul."

"Like hell, they are!" Natsu snarled. He leapt out of the tunnel and into the cavern, fists alight with his famous Salamander flame. Lisanna took a deep breath and followed him, her tiger claws scratching against the rock.

The Phasm mages didn't waiver, even as they approached. Natsu washed them in his fire, but all they did not try to defend themselves. Only when the flame engulfed them did they finally fall and scream, writhing on the ground. Lisanna tackled one to the ground and scratched, but he continued to limply chant until she knocked him out with a punch. "Hurry!" she told Natsu. "Get the leader!"

Together they sprinted toward the man in the red cloak, knocking as many Phasm mages out of their path as possible. The speed of the chanting continued to increase, and Gajeel's soul embroidered the curves of the seal, spinning toward completion. "We're not gonna make it!" Lisanna screamed.

Natsu stopped in his tracks and planted his feet. He took a deep breath and roared an inferno toward the leader, enveloping every mage in its path. Lisanna wedged herself into the front and watched in horror as Gajeel's soul finished etching the lines of the seal. It flashed brilliant white light, and Spyrodon howled with satisfaction, his ghostly face filling the area before fading back into hibernation.

She turned to Natsu, who continued to spew fire until he gasped for air. Screams from the burning Phasm mages echoed off the walls, but no one seemed to care. They continued to chant, even as their comrades burned to death at their feet.

Only the man in the red cloak remained standing. The fire that climbed his clothes had turned white, and simply vanished with a wave of his hand. He wasn't scorched, not even a little. He turned his brown eyes toward Natsu, and then Lisanna, and gave them an enigmatic smile. There was nothing special about him—he was a man of average height, broad shouldered, with unkempt brown hair and stubble on his chin. But his smile pierced Lisanna all the way to her bones. There was real joy in it. He was sincerely happy to see them.

"Hello," he said politely.

Something grabbed Lisanna's ankle. She looked down and saw a Phasm mage, barely alive, wailing in pain. She shrieked and tried to get him off, but his grip was the vise of death.

The leader frowned at the mage. He pulled something out of his pocket, but before Natsu or Lisanna could do anything, the knife had landed squarely in the head of the burned mage. He collapsed, dead.

"Terribly sorry for Brother Soren's misconduct," he said. "That was very rude of him. I'm Brother Alastor. You two must be from Fairy Tail."

Lisanna reeled back from the dead mage's body, bumping into another who was still chanting. She looked up into his face, but he was focused solely on the words coming from his lips in slow, rhythmic succession.

"You…you killed him," Natsu said, aghast.

Alastor turned to the dragonslayer and gave him a small frown. "No, Natsu Dragneel, _you_ killed him. He was burning alive at young Lisanna's feet. I can't take credit when credit is not due to me."

"You don't even care that he died!" Natsu shouted. His face was turning green behind the fury.

"Of course I care," Alastor said. "Brother Soren was a member of the Phasm order. All of these people you've slaughtered were members of the Phasm order. I care about every single one of them. Just as you cared for your friend Gajeel Redfox, I'm sure. But I take comfort in the fact that they died honorable deaths nourishing the Devourer of Lost Souls."

Alastor turned on his heel and began walking with his back to them. Lisanna glanced at Natsu, but he was looking around at the destruction. The mages continued to murmur chants. She closed her fist. How many could she take out before Alastor struck her down? Not enough to matter. Not enough to stop them from awakening Spyrodon.

The leader turned his head when he realized they weren't following him. "Aren't you coming?" he asked innocuously.

"Going where?" Natsu growled. His fists lit up again. "We're not going anywhere with you, bastard."

"I just assumed you would want to see Brother Bixlow," Alastor shrugged.

Lisanna felt her heart leap into her throat, but that didn't stop her from blurting out, "What do you mean, _Brother_ Bixlow?"

"A man of his talents, I offered him a choice. Rather than nourish the Devourer, he chose to join the order," Alastor said. He smiled once more. "Brother Bixlow is the newest member of Phasm."

* * *

Bixlow opened his eyes when he heard the thud.

He peeked at Enid, and jackknifed into sitting position when he saw her convulsing on the floor. He cursed and scrambled over to her, clutching her frail shoulders in his hands. Her red curls spilled from the hood of her cloak and onto his arm. A dark blue flame erupted inside her chest, spreading through her entire body and leaving blackness in its wake, pushing her tiny yellow soul to the periphery. The shadows in the room went wild. They whipped from the corners and snapped around Bixlow's wrists, dragging him away from Enid and back into the center of the room.

"Enid!" he cried out, trying to reach her. Her body continued to quiver, blue flames licking the edges of her soul. When the pitch dark finally reached her fingertips and toes, her back arched and her mouth opened, a loud moan overflowing from her mouth. An adjoining groan shook the mountain, much more ghoulish and haunting than her erotic outburst.

The darkness inside Enid slowly receded. Bixlow saw her soul slowly rush around her body, as though checking it for damage. It was a little less than before—less vibrant, less bright, less Enid. She sat up, her face pale, chest heaving. When the shadows released Bixlow, his hands fell hopelessly to his sides.

"Enid," he rasped. She turned her blind eyes to the sound of his voice. Then she looked away and crawled back under the torch, pulling up her hood.

"Stop staring at me," she ordered.

"This is how you survived, isn't it?" he said. "This is what's kept you alive all these years."

"Stop it, Bixlow."

"They found you. Lesco left you somewhere to die, and then they found you, they realized your potential and they did this to you. It's why you can see everything in the mountain. It's why—"

"_Enough_." The word silenced Bixlow's rambling. Instead he watched her soul in the darkness. Her trembling, weak, miserable soul. He let the reality of what had happened to her wash over him—of what he would have to do to her.

"Stop staring at me," Enid said again. But Bixlow couldn't help it.

He had just found Spyrodon's familiar.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Author's Note: **_Hello there, lovely readers! Sorry for the delay on this chapter, but, as always, life happens. You'll be happy to know that although this chapter is rather short, the last couple of chapters will be published without delay within the next few weeks. I feel like I might have bitten off more than I can chew with this project, but I promised an ending, and by-golly you guys are going to get an ending. You deserve it, damn it. You deserve it._

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Bixlow knew someone important was coming when Enid stood up and stared at the entrance of the prison with her blank white eyes. "Hugh," she breathed, dipping her head down.

The man melted out of the shadows. Bixlow hadn't noticed him enter, even with his Soul Sight. Hugh had a soul, but it wasn't a particularly bright one. It was dark, almost gray, like fog hovering above Strawberry Street's canal on a muggy summer morning.

Bixlow tried to meet Hugh's gaze, but the lieutenant's silver eyes were secured onto Enid. He took her chin in his long, dark fingers and tilted her head up. "Enid. You're looking well. But I'm displeased by the state of our prisoner."

"I haven't touched him," Enid assured.

"Yes, well, I should hope not," Hugh said dryly. "He's naked."

"He refuses to put on the robes."

Hugh sighed. "That's problematic. Alastor wants him clothed."

"Then give me my fuckin' clothes," Bixlow drawled, stretching his arms. "I ain't wearin' that garbage. S'not my color. I got an image to maintain."

"Your clothes are ruined," Hugh said. He released Enid's chin. "Restrain him."

Bixlow chose that moment to charge, springing up from his position on the floor toward Hugh—but Enid was quicker. She heard him coming. With a flick of her wrist her shades pinned him to the floor by his wrists and ankles. His head hit the ground, and stars erupted in front of his vision. For a moment he saw the beams of a stable spinning above him.

"Cover his face, too." Then he saw nothing.

Bixlow heard Hugh's footsteps, and forced himself not to react. The lieutenant placed on cold hand on Bixlow's chest, and he felt the insidious presence of Hugh's magic. He tried to resist, but the influence seeped through his body, rolling through his soul like a thundercloud in the sky. He shivered uncontrollably, even after Hugh took his hand away. "You're really becoming more trouble than you're worth," the Phasm mage complained. "You're lucky Alastor enjoys his games. I, for one, find this entire episode a waste of precious time and resources. Enid, release him."

The shadows slipped away, but Bixlow was still unable to move his body. His eyes flickered behind closed eyelids.

"You will open your eyes," Hugh said. "You will not make eye contact with me, or with the man in the red robe. You will stand up. You will put on the black robes next to you. You will smile at our visitors. And you will say absolutely nothing."

Bixlow's chest tightened. His eyes opened. His body moved, muscles contracting, sitting up, hands reaching toward the robe and closing around the fabric. He wanted to scream, he wanted to ask what was happening as he put the disgusting Phasm robe on himself, black fabric whispering over his skin. This wasn't magic he'd ever experienced before—he could feel Hugh's influence through his entire body, subtle, firm. He could blink, he could twitch his fingers and move his eyes, but that was the extent of his control. His feet were planted on the ground, his arms refused to move. His eyes swiveled toward Enid, who was expressionless, but his eyes wouldn't move in Hugh's direction.

_Is this what it feels like?_ he wondered silently. _Is this what happens when I use Figure Eyes on someone?_ He thought of all the times he'd used them—during missions, for defense, in bar fights. Once, to prank Fried. He remembered Makarov's reaction, the lesson he tried to drill in. He'd tried every technique to explain to Bixlow the severity of his power. Your eyes are dangerous. You are not to use them unless you have to. It's a horrific violation, to take control of another person's body, to get inside their mind and soul. It's illegal—the Council will take you away, will arrest you, will experiment on you. He'd tried everything, but Bixlow had never really listened. He'd used his eyes whenever he wanted, as long as he didn't get caught.

Bixlow would never abuse that power again. Not if this was what it was like.

He saw the red robe first, a splash of color against the dark cavern. Then Lisanna's white hair caught the silver light. He saw her eyes peeking over the red robe's shoulder, curious, afraid, and defiant. He was so focused on those disbelieving eyes that he only noticed the Salamander when he heard his voice.

"The hell is going on?!"

The man in the red robe stopped and turned. He was unremarkable in every aspect, brown hair and a plain face, but Bixlow knew this was Alastor, the bastard in charge of Phasm, the brainwashing prophet of Zeref.

"I told you, Brother Bixlow has joined our cause," Alastor said.

"Bullshit!" Natsu snarled, fists flaming. "This is some kinda trick!"

"That's right! Bixlow wouldn't do that! He's part of Fairy Tail!" Lisanna chimed in. Her gaze landed on him, searching for conformation.

And all he could do was smile at her.

The betrayal on her face was palpable. Natsu's fists went out and his scowl turned to Bixlow instead. Alastor drank it all in from the sidelines, barely masking his merriment with professional, dignified solemnity. He was getting off on it, but Lisanna and Natsu didn't care.

"Bixlow?" Lisanna whispered.

"He had another family, once. Other people who trusted him, who loved him," Enid murmured. She gestured to herself. "Look at how much he cares about family."

Lisanna turned to the redhead incredulously. "You really are insane, if you think that he doesn't care about you. I don't know the details of what happened to you, but one thing I know for sure is that Bixlow cares about you, more than I've seen him care about anyone outside of his team."

For a moment, Bixlow's smile was genuine.

"Perhaps this motivated his switch. Regardless, Brother Bixlow has been a valuable asset to Phasm," Alastor said. He planted a hand on Bixlow's shoulder. It was cold and heavy, and Bixlow wanted to tear it off of the Phasm mage's arm. "As could you two. Natsu, you're regarded as one of the most powerful dragonslayers in Fiore. And Lisanna, I understand you and your siblings are skilled seith mages in your own right—the Take Over siblings, yes? I would be willing to relinquish your brother from the belly of Spyrodon if you agree to join, and I'll spare your sister. I'll even make them the same offer."

"We'll never—" Natsu began, but Lisanna put a hand on his chest to stop him. She glanced at Bixlow, then back at Alastor.

"How would you get Elfman out?" she asked.

Alastor smiled. "Smart girl, but I'm not going to tell you. Just trust that I can do it. I am Spyrodon's master. He obeys my commands, just as everyone in Phasm obeys me."

_Egotistical bastard_, Bixlow thought, seething. _You can't control that thing. You may control Enid, but even she's slipping. It's devouring her like those fuckin' souls you keep feeding it. Soon her familial bond with the demon is going to kill her, and you'll have no control at all._

_That's exactly right, Bixlow._ Alastor gave his shoulder a squeeze, and smiled at him. Bixlow was bound by Hugh's magic, so he couldn't look Alastor in the face, but he knew the source of that loud, echoing voice in his head. _Don't fret, I know Sister Enid's time is wasting. It's time to change out Spyrodon's familiar, someone who can handle his crowded soul, his everlasting hunger. Someone I can also handle._

"I want you, Lisanna," he said aloud. "And you, Natsu. If you join Phasm, no more harm will come to Fairy Tail. You have my word."

Lisanna looked at Natsu, then again at Bixlow. She puffed out her chest and stepped forward. "I'll join," she declared, ignoring Natsu's shock and rage. "But only if you agree to release all of Fairy Tail."

"Spyrodon will waste away without their nourishment. I can only promise your brother," Alastor sighed. _The pretty ones are always so gullible_, Alastor said to Bixlow. _What do you think her face will look like when she realizes her mistake?_

Suddenly, the mountain groaned, sending debris crashing down on them. Enid screamed and crumbled to the ground, clutching herself as a bruise-colored light exploded from her soul. The distraction broke everyone's concentration, including Hugh's. For a moment, Bixlow was free.

He swung around and punched Alastor right in the nose before anyone else could react. Hugh lunged at him, but Natsu knocked him aside with a fiery roar and detained him in the corner. "Don't let him touch you!" Bixlow shouted. He tackled Alastor to the ground and pinned the Phasm leader down, trying to make eye contact. Alastor's mouth began moving rapidly, and Bixlow punched him again. The Phasm leader retaliated with his now free hand, knocking his fist against Bixlow's temple. A terrible static ringing erupted in Bixlow's brain, and he jumped away, crying out.

Lisanna was on Alastor before he could recover, raking at him with her tiger claws. He knocked her aside with a spell after one slice. Bixlow moved to take over, but leapt back when Natsu's flames nearly singed him. "Watch it, Salamander!" he growled. The fight between the dragonslayer and Hugh was getting too intense for the small confines of the cave. Natsu dodged all of Hugh's attempts to get close using his fire and speed, but Hugh also dodged all of the Salamander's infernos. Bixlow caught sight of Enid out of the corner of his eye, consumed by the purple light. He didn't know what was happening with Spyrodon, but whatever it was he doubted she could take much more of it.

Alastor burst from the last of Natsu's flames, wielding a dagger made of shadows. Bixlow jumped back again and launched an uppercut into Alastor's abdomen, twisting out of the way of the Phasm mage's weapon. Alastor produced another sorcerer's blade from his cloak and tried to slide it between Bixlow's ribs, but only managed to nick his chest. Pain blossomed from the wound, augmented by the dark origins of the instrument. He clutched at the cut, swearing. Alastor stopped and grinned at him ruthlessly. Bixlow knew this was his only chance to use his Figure Eyes.

And then, suddenly, he was blind.

The cave was plunged into blackness. He could still hear the moan of Spyrodon and feel the heat of the Salamander's flames, but he couldn't see the rubble or the light. He couldn't see Alastor, either.

"What's the matter, Brother Bixlow?" Alastor spat, so close to his ear. Bixlow reeled back in disorientation, but the Phasm mage grabbed his cloak and kept him steady. "Eyes not working?"

Bixlow rushed forward to attack, and felt the point of the dagger slide into his belly. His entire body pulsed with pain. He fell to his knees, silent and shell-shocked, as Alastor roughly drew out the weapon. He heard someone scream, and thought he saw a glint of orange fire, and two anguished blue stars.

His next breath threatened to evaporate him. A purple blip broke through the darkness. Enid. He couldn't help Enid. He couldn't help Lisanna. He couldn't help anyone he loved.

At the next agonizing wheeze he caught Alastor's red cloak. He couldn't help anyone, but he sure as hell was going to kill this twisted son of a bitch before he died. Bixlow focused every ounce of his soul on keeping his eyes open, on seeing what was right in front of him. The edges were black, and he looked through miles of murky water, but he could see Alastor's two arms raised high in the air, bringing down the black dagger for one final merciful blow. In the middle of his plain face were two evil dark eyes.

Bixlow felt his last gasp for life in his bones. He nudged his consciousness forward, into the eyes of the Phasm leader. Eyes, the windows to the soul. Bixlow thought about Enid's empty white orbs, Natsu's bright ferocious eyes. Lisanna, her stunning baby blues, those crystal clear pools that were honest and earnest and as beautiful as the open sky. Bixlow thought about his own closing eyes as Alastor's body jerked in response to Bixlow's magic. He watched the dagger plunge down into Alastor's voluminous red robe. He didn't want Alastor's dead face to be the last thing he saw, but he couldn't turn his head to see anything else. He just closed his eyes as Alastor's body fell at his feet.

He felt the cool touch of an angel, and smiled when he heard her whisper his name.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

Lisanna's world stopped when she saw Alastor plunge the dagger into Bixlow. Natsu's fire stopped swirling around her, Enid's screaming faded into silence. All she could do was stare as Bixlow dropped to his knees, a stunned expression on his face. She struggled to get up, but Alastor was already preparing to deliver the final killing blow, raising his hands over his head with a deranged look in his eye.

Then the most remarkable thing happened—Alastor brought the dagger down upon himself. The shock was evident even on his own expression. Bixlow must have used his Figure Eyes to save Fairy Tail. To save the world.

Lisanna scrambled to her feet and raced toward the two bodies. She fell to her knees beside Bixlow just as Hugh reached Alastor. The lieutenant had completely abandoned his fight with Natsu to come to his master's side. He grabbed Alastor's cloak in his hands, shouting for Alastor to wake up, in denial of the truth right in front of him. Lisanna turned to Bixlow's still face and felt the tears well up in her eyes. She wanted to do the same thing, because that's what you did when you needed someone who was gone. You begged them to come back. She touched his face with her fingertips. She thought about his big reckless grin, the scars that covered his body, his babies whirring around his head. "Bixlow," she whispered. "Please, don't go."

"ALASTOR!" Hugh shrieked, hoisting the cult leader off of the ground. His head swiveled toward Lisanna, silver eyes feral with grief. "_You_. You did this. YOU DID THIS!"

Natsu knocked Hugh over the head before he could lunge. His long body collapsed atop his master's. The Salamander kneeled beside Bixlow and checked for life. He closed his eyes and sighed, pain and anger rippling across his face. Lisanna bowed her head over Bixlow's chest as uncontainable wails escaped from her throat. She clutched at the black Phasm robe on his chest, as though to contain his soul within him. "Damn it, Bixlow," she whimpered. "The one time you're not wearing your equipment—the one time you don't have a soul glass. I could have saved you, I could have caught your soul and I would have—I would have made you a container, a big hulking one with all sorts of gadgets and weapons and a big, permanent grin. You would still be part of Fairy Tail and I could have—we could have—" Her words dissolved into hopeless sobs. It didn't matter. There was no soul glass. There was nothing.

Natsu gently took her into his arms and let her cry into his warm scarf. With Bixlow's death, and the demise of Alastor, came the reality that there was nothing they could do to get the rest of Fairy Tail out of Spyrodon's belly. The Devourer's familiar was dead, and unless Makarov had any ideas, there was no getting the souls from his sealed chamber. Lucy, Gray, Erza, Elfman, Gajeel—everyone was gone.

A disgusted grumble came from the corner of the cavern. Natsu and Lisanna both turned to Enid, who glared in their direction as she struggled to sit up on her elbows. "Stop…your miserable whining," the blind girl wheezed. Her red curls fell limp and wet over her pale, clammy forehead. She tossed them away, grimacing at the pain the movement caused her. "Beast…whore. I can't believe…Bixlow fell…for the likes of you."

"Shut up," Natsu growled, standing up. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do," Enid replied. "I knew Bixlow…better than any of you. I knew him longer…I knew him better. I could feel his aura…just as I can feel yours'. I knew his love of you…and his love of your guild…was sincere. Your grief…is also sincere." A hiss exploded from her clenched teeth and she curled into herself, shivering violently. Lisanna slowly stood up and neared the girl, waving Natsu along with her. There was nothing to fear from Enid—she was dying, but from what, Lisanna had no idea. She took Enid's delicate hand in her own, and the girl squeezed it tightly, clutched it in her agonizing darkness.

"Bixlow is…the only one…who's ever made me feel anything," Enid continued. Tears surged into her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. "He showed me true love, and introduced me…to hatred. Not all those feelings brought me joy, but…feeling is better than nothing, or being manipulated into…what others think you're supposed to feel. I was absolutely devoted to Phasm…devoted to Hugh…but both of those things are broken. Hugh…I was dead…and he saved me…he can save…he can save Bixlow, too. He's a necromancer…he can save Bixlow, too."

"But how? Hugh won't cooperate with us," Lisanna exclaimed.

Enid nodded. "He will. He will, he'll—he's out of his mind, all he wants to do is die. His life was Alastor. Tell him you won't kill him. You won't let him kill himself, either. Tell him…to exchange his soul…for Bixlow's. It should be a fair trade, a balanced trade. They were…of equal match."

Natsu put a hand on Lisanna's arm before she could leap up, still skeptical. "How do we know he won't save you again, instead?" he asked. "I'm sorry, but you don't look too hot. He's already saved you once. Why wouldn't he do it again?"

Enid tipped back her head and laughed. Her mouth was strawberry red. "There's nothing left in me to save, Salamander. The Devourer has eaten me alive. I have hardly…any soul left to trade."

"What are you saying?" Lisanna gasped. "Are you…?"

"I am Spyrodon's familiar," Enid confessed. Her back bowed and she groaned, face contorting in pain. "Your friends are powerful, even as disjointed souls inside of a half-resurrected demon. They are causing him…much indigestion." Her grip grew stronger, and somehow her milky eyes bore into Lisanna's. "Listen to me. What you're about to do is…black magic. Bringing Bixlow back is illegal and dark, but Hugh will take all the consequences. You will not be tainted. Killing a demon through its familiar is even darker. Purities like you…and like him"—she nudged her chin toward Natsu—"won't be able to handle it. You just won't. You'll go crazy, you'll crumble away. You won't be the same. Bixlow…Bixlow can handle it. I want Bixlow to kill me. I want…Bixlow…"

Lisanna shook her head. "I can't let him do that. He already thinks he's killed you once—"

"No one else," Enid snarled. "You bitch. I'm giving you the opportunity to save your entire fucking guild. Bixlow is the only one who can do it. He has to be the one to kill me. You're stupid to think he'd let anyone else do it, anyway. Don't think you're _protecting_ him—if he were to see you suffer the consequences of this black magic, it would ruin him. He can handle it. You just have to be there to believe in him, and to help him recover from it. Do you think you can at least do that, beast whore?"

"Okay," Lisanna squeaked, wiping her tears away. "Okay. Tell us what we need to do."

* * *

Bixlow felt like shit when he opened his eyes. But he did open them.

He still laid in the cavern, staring straight up at the flickering shadows on the ceiling. When he tilted his head up, he saw that he was in the center of a circle drawn in chalk. The runes surrounding it hurt his eyes. There was a body lying beside him, covered in a black Phasm robe. Hugh's slack face peeked out from the hood.

"Bixlow!" Lisanna called to him from outside the circle. Natsu sat behind her, arms crossed. He wore a fat grin, but his eyes were slightly disturbed.

"What the hell happened?" Bixlow groaned, sitting up. The room spun around him. A bundle laid at the entrance in a red cloak with a slightly darker stain on the front. Alastor. He'd defeated the Phasm leader.

Right before he'd died.

"We'll explain it all, you just gotta come out of the circle. There's not much time," Natsu said. But Bixlow was frowning, peering more closely at Hugh. Yes, the lieutenant was most certainly dead. His eyes scanned the cave for Enid, and found her hunched in the corner, listening to the exchange. Her heaving breaths betrayed her health, but she was alive. He looked down again at Hugh.

"I could've sworn I was dead," he said, standing.

"You were," Lisanna confirmed. She threw her arms around his neck as soon as he stepped out of the circle, nearly knocking him back into it. She drew away but kept her hands on his shoulders, smiling sadly. "But you're not allowed to do that again, alright?"

"We convinced Hugh to bring you back, like he did her," Natsu explained, jabbing a thumb at Enid. "He was out of his mind when Alastor stabbed himself with that dagger. I take it that was you?"

Bixlow nodded. He turned to Enid. "Necromancy, huh? That's dark magic. And tricky. It never comes without a price."

"There were no complications," Enid assured. "Hugh gave his soul, so he will obviously not have the same influence over you that he had over me. It was a balanced transaction. It may have knocked a few years off or added some, but overall you will live a normal life." She raised her chin up stubbornly. "Not that you deserve something as fine as that. But you didn't deserve to die, either."

She gasped and held her abdomen as the dark purple light oozed from within her. Bixlow's frown deepened. No matter what change of heart Enid had, she was still Spyrodon's familiar. She still had to die to free the members of Fairy Tail and all the other innocents that the Devourer had consumed. And Bixlow would have to kill her.

"It's alright, Bixlow," Enid breathed, deducing his train of thought from his aura. She laid her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "I'm ready."

Bixlow didn't want to do it. He wanted to find a way to save her, to heal her, but he knew that she was already beyond help. Nothing more than mercy would do Enid any good. He turned to Lisanna and Natsu, but they already understood without him saying anything. Lisanna gave his hand a squeeze before they left.

Bixlow began preparing. He used Hugh's circle, dragging the dead man away and placing him next to Alastor. Somehow, he thought the lieutenant deserved at least that, to rest beside the master he'd admired so greatly. It was a twisted devotion he'd had, but it was respectable devotion just the same. Hugh probably could have run Phasm. He was more powerful than Alastor, no matter what he'd believed. In the end, it was Alastor's brainwashing that destroyed him.

"Your friends really care about you," Enid said as he erased the runes and replaced them with even darker ones, using chalk he'd found near the circle. "They got Hugh to give his own life for yours, and to perform black magic."

"I was gonna ask how you guys managed that."

"It took a lot of convincing. I told them what to say to get him to come around. He was so lost that his control over me completely slipped. It was my last opportunity for revenge. The bastard should have just let me die in that tent, for all the trouble he caused me."

"Is that the reason for your change of heart?" Bixlow inquired. "Hugh's magic went away?"

"Not entirely. I…I really can't describe to you why," Enid admitted. "I just know that I'm tired of this. I just want it to be over. And…when you died…I knew it wasn't your time. Not really. I could just feel it."

Bixlow stopped drawing and stood, pocketing the chalk. "I don't want to do this, Enid."

"I know. But you have to if you want to save your friends."

"What if we found another way? What if I transferred Spyrodon's soul to someone else? I could just—"

"Shut up, Bixlow," Enid scoffed. "You're not going to kill some innocent person because you don't have the balls to finish what you started. Besides, you and I both know I'm not strong enough to carry on alone. This piece of Spyrodon inside of me is what's keeping me alive. Without it I would die anyway, so let's just get on with it."

"But not like this," Bixlow said. "You don't deserve to die like this."

"Death is death," Enid responded solemnly. "Don't think of it as performing a black magic ritual. It's not your fault that has to happen. Think of it as saving the ones you love, the ones you call your family. Think of it as finally putting your demons to rest. Of finally exorcising that ghost of yours."

Bixlow swallowed a lump in his throat. "Okay."

"Are you fucking _crying_? Well, there you go, I never thought I'd live to see that!"

"I'm not fuckin' cryin'!" Bixlow snapped back. "You're seein' things."

Enid smirked. "The beast whore must be rubbing off on you. She cried like a baby when you died. Her annoying whine is probably why I decided to help. Just to get her to shut her little beast whore mouth."

Bixlow shook his head and walked over to her. He slid his hand behind her knees and used to other to cradle her head, hoisting her weightless body off of the ground. She remained stiff and unresponsive to his touch until he set her down in the middle of the circle. Then she grabbed his hand.

"Let her help you, Bixlow," she requested. "After this is all over. Let them help you."

"I will," Bixlow promised. He stepped out of the circle. "Goodbye, Enid."

Enid closed her eyes. "Goodbye, crybaby."

And those were her last words.

* * *

Natsu and Lisanna waited for Bixlow a fair distance from the cave. They rounded up the last of the Phasm mages, but there weren't many left alive. Upon learning of their leader's death, many tried to commit suicide. None of them succeeded, and when Natsu and Lisanna finally had them all subdued and restrained, they waited.

Enid was right. Bixlow wasn't the same man when he stepped out of the cave two hours later. Physically he was unchanged, but Lisanna could see the shadows that haunted his eyes. Enid's gruesome demise wasn't something he was going to get over quickly, maybe something he'd never entirely get over at all.

"It's done," he said in way of greeting. "Everyone's soul is free. They should be returnin' to their bodies as we speak. By the time we get to Happy and Pantherlily's hideout, they should be wakin' up. And we won't ever have to worry about the Devourer of Lost Souls again."

Natsu nodded and stood. "We'll go find them, then. Lily can fly ahead of us to tell the Rune Knights about the last Phasm members. Happy'll go to Gramps and fill him in before we get to Fairy Tail."

"Did either of you find Gajeel?" Bixlow inquired numbly.

"Yeah, but he's too freaking heavy for either of us to carry," Natsu replied.

"I'll help you get him outta here. Let's just go."

Lisanna turned back to the cave. "What about—?"

"I cremated her," Bixlow cut in, anticipating her question. "Hugh and Alastor, too. Got rid of all the evidence of black magic. Even if the Council snoops around, they won't find anything to incriminate any of us. Their bodies will be completely burned by the time anyone else gets here."

"Okay," Lisanna murmured. She tried her best at a reassuring smile. "Let's go home."


	18. Epilogue

**Author's Note:**_ This is it, everyone! The final chapter in what has been one of biggest challenges in my experience as a fanfiction writer. I'd like to thank all the readers and reviewers without whom I probably never would have found the motivation to finish this. Really, thank you. I hope you find this ending adequate. _

_Happy holidays, and I'll see you all in 2015!_

* * *

**Epilogue**

It was a relief for everyone when Gajeel finally regained consciousness halfway up Mt. Hakobe, although it took several minutes of furious flailing and cursing to convince him that they weren't demons in disguise. Lisanna was glad to see the Iron Dragonslayer was okay, Bixlow was happy to know his shot-in-the-dark plan had worked, and Natsu was just sick and tired of carrying Gajeel's heavy iron ass around.

"Seriously," he complained, flexing his muscles, "lay off the nuts and bolts, will ya?"

Together the four of them trekked up the mountainside to the little cave where Pantherlily and Happy guarded the bodies of their comrades. They, too, were waking up from their comas when Happy ushered them inside the relative warmth of the shelter.

Lisanna cried out and tackled her brother to the ground when she saw him, gushing about how worried she was. Elfman was bewildered to see Lisanna out of the vegetative state he'd left her in, and angry when he took stock of her visible injuries. "Lisanna? What the hell are you doing here? Who did this to you? Tell me who it is, and I'll show him what happens when he messes with a real man's sister!"

"It's over now, Elf-bro," Lisanna said. She peeked over her shoulder at Bixlow, whose bright green eyes quickly flitted away when she caught him staring. "We took care of it."

Elfman didn't miss the exchange. When Lisanna closed her eyes and squeezed him tight, he let Bixlow know in silent terms that he was watching the seith mage very closely. Lisanna slapped his hand down without even looking, eliciting a betrayed, "Ouch!" from her brother. Bixlow frowned, but was less than threatened.

Natsu nearly pounced on Lucy when she showed signs of life, but the blonde celestial mage was saved by Erza's gauntleted fist, which grabbed Natsu by the back of his shirt and pulled him to her metal breast so that Lucy could have a second to recover. "It's good to see you so eager to greet us, Natsu," she cooed, winking.

"Oi, Salamander, why don't you get a freakin' fire goin'?" Gajeel complained. Lily clapped a hand on his dragonslayer's shoulder, glad to have him back in one loud piece.

"I'm back too, you know," Gray muttered from his spot in the corner. "No one's freakin' happy to see me."

"Why should you get special treatment, Easy Freeze?!" Natsu shouted.

"What the hell kind of insult is Easy Freeze, you pink hothead?!"

"You say hothead like that's a bad thing!"

"Salamander, start that freakin' fire before I rub your two brain cells together to get a spark!"

"Why don't you come over here and say that, Iron Ass?!"

"My ass is iron, moron! I got buns of steel!"

"That was way too much information," Lucy said.

"Agreed," Lisanna put in.

Happy padded over to Gray and patted his hand. "I'm glad you're alive, Gray."

"Thanks, Happy."

"Especially considering that even your inanimate body tried to strip, and it was up to me to make sure your boxers stayed on."

Gray just stared as the blue cat walked away. He sighed. "Where's Juvia when you need her?"

* * *

They remained in the cave long enough to attend to their wounds and ensure no one's magic was effected by the Devourer. There were many serious injuries, but thankfully Lucy's keys were functioning and Elfman's take over magic was secure.

Happy flew ahead to Magnolia, so the Rune Knights could arrest the last Phasm mages. The group waited for them to arrive, and answered their questions using the rehearsed story. It was unanimously agreed that no one else should know of Bixlow's black magic, or of his relationship with Enid.

The investigation was over after the Rune Knights discovered the burned, blackened seal where Spyrodon the Devourer of Lost Souls once resided. It harrowed them that such a powerful demon was hiding right above their city. Dawn was breaking over Magnolia's golden streets by the time the Knights escorted the mages back to their guild and took the prisoners to jail.

There was a hush over Fairy Tail as the group slowly walked down the path to the door. "Don't any of you think it's weird that Master Makarov didn't come with the Rune Knights?" Lisanna whispered as they neared.

"He sent me," Happy protested.

Bixlow frowned. "Maybe I should go in first. Just in case."

He crept toward the front entrance, trying to peer into the guild hall to detect any souls or signs of life. A giant black shadow leapt out at him before he could assess the situation, covering his entire face. Lisanna screamed behind him and grabbed his Phasm cloak, but a giant Makarov was much stronger than her. Bixlow was yanked from her grasp.

"The demon's infiltrated Fairy Tail! The Master's been taken over!" Lisanna cried.

"No, impossible!" Erza shouted, horrified.

"Get that demon out of him!" Natsu declared.

Demon Makarov let out a booming laugh and dropped Bixlow to the ground. The seith mage saw a giant shoe sailing in his direction, and knew that he'd die for the second time that day. He wasn't going to watch it happen again.

The boot landed just shy of his head. Bixlow opened his eyes and saw Makarov shrinking. Brilliant, shining Makarov with his aged golden soul. The group put down their weapons, confused.

"And that is what you could have come home to," Makarov snarled, pointing his fingers at Bixlow and Lisanna. "If I had lost the battle with the demon who possessed my grandson. Luckily for you, I can still take my boy down in a fight."

"Hey, it was the demon, not me," Laxus complained, poking his head out of the guild hall. He nodded his head at his shocked teammate. "Good to see you made it back, Bixlow. Now, mind telling us what the hell you were thinking?"

"I didn't—"

"That's right, you didn't think at all, did you?!" Evergreen exclaimed, bursting onto the scene with Fried trailing solemnly behind her. "I knew you were an idiot, Bixlow, but even I didn't think you could be this reckless and stupid! Why the hell didn't you tell us what was going on?"

"I…I didn't want anyone to get hurt," Bixlow said, looking guilty. "The demon that possessed Lisanna hinted that there were others taken over, and threatened the guild. I didn't know what else to do."

"That's exactly what happened," Makarov said gravely. "A demon had taken over Laxus as well, when he was on his way back from his mission. When you ran off, the demon made it look really bad, like you had kidnapped Lisanna. Then it attacked Evergreen and Fried and Mirajane."

"Mira! Is she okay?" Lisanna and Elfman cried.

"She's inside," Makarov said. He stepped away so that the others could file into the guild hall to greet their friends. Cheers erupted from the open doors as the group received a heroes' welcome. Only Makarov and the Raijinshuu remained outside.

"Laxus's demon came after me next, and I defeated it," Makarov continued, helping Bixlow off the ground. "You're lucky that happened. You're lucky any of this worked out at all, Bixlow. Why didn't you come to me?"

"Or to us?" Fried pitched in, pointing to him and Evergreen.

"It was demons," Bixlow said, avoiding their gazes. "I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to get anyone in trouble, and I didn't want to get anyone hurt. Phasm wasn't what I expected. I didn't want to get involved at all, but…Lisanna needed help. She was going to go alone."

"You should have come to me when you realized Lisanna was possessed," Makarov said. "I understand your concerns, but we could have helped you. Someone in the guild could have helped you."

"Don't worry," Bixlow muttered, finally meeting Makarov's eyes. "Someone did."

Lisanna caught him staring at her again as she held her older siblings close. This time, he didn't look away, and she answered his gaze with a blinding smile.

* * *

It was three weeks later before everyone was healed up enough for Mirajane's belated surprise birthday party. Lisanna and Elfman had everything perfectly orchestrated. The decorations would go up while Mirajane went on a date that, with a little persuasion from Lisanna, Fried finally managed to ask her out on. Cana was in charge of the giant birthday cake, Erza was in charge of the booze, and each were tasked with keeping the other away from their respective vices. Gray guarded the gifts. Juvia kept everyone corralled into their crouched surprise positions while Natsu and Happy served as the sneaky ninja lookouts. Everyone had a role, everything was perfect.

Except for the part where Lisanna forgot the earrings at her house.

It was thirty minutes before the time Fried was supposed to bring Mirajane to the guild that Lisanna realized she'd forgotten them. Elfman suggested she just give them to Mira later, but Lisanna knew she could make it back on time if she hurried.

"Just make sure everyone yells surprise!" she told him.

"Take someone with you!" Elfman called. He'd barely let her out of his sight since Phasm's defeat, and demanded she have an escort when he wasn't around. Currently everyone was too preoccupied making last minute preparations to join Lisanna. She might finally get a second to herself.

"I ain't doin' anything, I'll go." Bixlow jogged to catch up with her, his newly-carved babies swirling eagerly around his head. Lisanna paused in her tracks, and blinked.

"Okay," she said dumbly. Bixlow had avoided her for weeks. She decided early on to give him the space he needed to work through Enid and the other ghosts from his past that she'd unknowingly brought to light. The Raijinshuu had given him plenty of companionship after they'd made up with him. He certainly didn't need her breathing down his neck, too.

Bixlow stopped beside her and gestured toward the back door, smirking. "After you. We're in a hurry, aren't we?"

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" the babies squealed.

"Oh, right. Yeah, come on."

Lisanna transformed into a bird while Bixlow let his babies carry him over the city skyline. The moon was big and bright, and the night was clear. Lisanna kept sneaking glances back his way, and occasionally she caught a green flash from under his visor. The wind kept them from chatting.

They landed on Lisanna's front porch a few minutes later. She quickly unlocked the door and peeked inside, just in case. The house was empty. She flicked on the light and rushed into the kitchen. "I'm pretty sure I left it on the counter—ah, here it is! Thank goodness." She took the little box wrapped in silver paper in her hands and stared at it, at the little silver sparkles that reminded her of the stars tonight.

"Small box," Bixlow said from behind her. "What'd you get her, jewelry?"

"Earrings," Lisanna confirmed. She turned and smiled softly at him. "A pair of sapphire earrings."

"That's the blue stone, right? Like the one she wears on her neck?" Bixlow plucked at his shirt collar.

Lisanna nodded. "Yes. That's why I got them. You know…it's funny, but these were the reason I took that job. The one with Elfman, when Phasm first attacked us. We were trying to scrape up enough cash to get these earrings for her. If I'd gotten her something else, something less expensive, none of this might have ever happened." She glanced up and saw Bixlow frowning at her, hands in his pockets. She shook her head and sighed, putting the box in her purse. "Never mind. That's stupid. Let's just go."

"It's not stupid," Bixlow said. He grabbed her arm when she tried to rush by. "Look, I don't want you thinkin' about that every time your sister wears those earrings, okay? Just don't do that to yourself. It would've happened to someone else, but it would've happened either way."

Lisanna nodded again, but Bixlow didn't let go of her arm. He licked his lips and turned to her, fidgeting awkwardly. Lisanna couldn't remember a time when Bixlow looked awkward. He was always so comfortable in his own skin. "I…I also wanted to say that I know you might be annoyed with me comin' with you, 'cause you've been tryin' to avoid me these last couple weeks, which I get, but—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Lisanna interrupted. "I haven't been avoiding you. You've been avoiding me!"

"Have not! _You're_ avoidin' _me_!"

"Why would _I_ be avoiding _you_?!"

"Because I freaked you out! With that black magic, and my Figure Eyes and…well, y'know, with what happened in the cave…" Bixlow shrugged, trailing off. "I figured you didn't wanna have anything to do with me anymore. You were just tryin' to save your brother's soul, and I…took advantage of you in your vulnerable state?"

He ended that last part like a question, leading Lisanna to believe that this was some theory Fried had concocted, not something Bixlow came up with on his own. Her face flushed red. "Bixlow! Did you tell anyone about what happened while we were on the mission?!"

"Wha—I—look, just Fried, okay?! I didn't know what else to do, who else to freakin' talk to! You sure as hell weren't givin' me anything to work with, and like I said, I didn't wanna piss you off or somethin'!"

"Pissed off?! Well, now I'm a little pissed off!" Lisanna snorted.

"It's not like I gave him an explicit play-by-play! I just told him that we…kissed."

"Kissed?"

"Yeah. Y'know. That's what we did. Kissed." The babies began making smooching sounds with various degrees of enthusiasm. "And I told him how my eyes got out of control. He thought that maybe that was what was botherin' you."

"Bixlow, that doesn't…bother me. Not even a little bit," Lisanna said. "I mean, I was hurt when you shoved me away in the cave, but now I understand. And I know you would never take advantage of me with your Figure Eyes. It was a mistake, it was the heat of the moment, and that's okay."

"And…the black magic? That doesn't bother you either?"

"You did what you had to do to protect the guild. You probably saved the world. Everyone has something in their past that they're not proud of, and I'm no exception. The fact that you could use that to help you in the present is something remarkable, Bixlow. I'm glad that you could confront your personal demons while simultaneously confronting literal demons."

Bixlow grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Then why the hell have you been avoiding me?!"

"Well, I…" Lisanna sighed hopelessly. "I thought you wanted space. I never understood the full story, but I know that Enid was someone really important to you, and I figured you'd want time to sort all that out on your own, to process and recover, before we…well, before…"

Bixlow's hands slid down to her elbows. "Before what?"

"I don't know. I'm getting ahead of myself."

"That's such a cop-out," Bixlow said, smiling his usual tongue-wagging smile. His grip on her elbows tightened and he pressed his mouth to hers, maintaining a steady, warm, unhurried embrace very different from the tentative and then desperate kisses in the cave. Lisanna reciprocated in kind, and felt all the extra tension—from Phasm, from the birthday party, from Bixlow—melt away. This was one thing that felt undeniably, irrevocably _right_.

Bixlow took Lisanna's face in his hands when he pulled away. Lisanan couldn't see his eyes behind the visor, but she didn't mind. She could feel them touching every inch of her skin. "I'm not gonna lie, I'm still dealin' with my past, but who the hell isn't? I decided I'm not gonna let it hold me back anymore. Certainly not from you. So if you're okay with that, I'd like to get this show on the road before you get over whatever rebellious phase you're goin' through and you change your mind."

Lisanna laughed. It was the first true laughter she'd enjoyed in a while. "I've always been Fairy Tail's resident rebel, Bixlow. That's not ever going to change."

"Lucky me," he replied with another grin. His babies followed with a chorus of, "Lucky! Lucky!"

"Let's go. We've got to surprise my sister."

Bixlow snorted in response.

They slipped in the back door of the guild just as Mirajane and Fried were walking up the front path. "What took you so long?" Elfman hissed, pulling them down behind the counter with him. Lisanna and Bixlow glanced at each other but didn't answer.

Fried opened the door, the lights flicked on, and everyone popped out and yelled, "SURPRISE!" It was like a scene from a movie. Mirajane was a magnificent actress, right down the tears of joy and the jubilant shock, but it was clear to her siblings that they had, as always, failed to truly surprise the omniscient barmaid.

The cake was delicious, the drink flowed freely, and everyone seemed to have a great time. Mirajane opened her gifts and was delighted by every one of them, especially the sapphire earrings from Lisanna. She smiled at Elfman and gave him a thumbs up when her sister enfolded her in a hug. Neither of them would ever tell Mirajane how much those earrings had really cost.

As the night wore on and people grew drunker, Lisanna edged her way over to Bixlow's table. He was a bit tipsy judging from the loopy patterns of his tiki dolls, but he refrained from indulging in the obscene amount of alcohol he usually consumed during birthday blowouts. She leaned on the table and sighed, staring out at the rowdy crowd surrounding her sister. "The party appears to be a success."

"Appears to be. Your sister's real good at fakin' it. Good for Fried, I guess."

Lisanna wrinkled her nose and swatted Bixlow on the shoulder. "That's so crude. I don't want to think about that."

Bixlow grinned and shrugged. "Trust me, no one else in this guild does, either. Not about Fried, at least." He dodged Lisanna's hand when that earned him another slap. "C'mon, y'know it's true."

"That doesn't change the fact that I don't want to _think_ about it."

"Tell you what, I know somethin' that'll really surprise your sister. Like, genuine shock."

"What?"

With one hand Bixlow grabbed the back of Lisanna's neck and brought her mouth down onto his, and with the other he tipped back his visor. Lisanna smiled and grabbed his shirt in her hands, reveling in the rather sloppy, but ultimately thorough kisses that Bixlow administered in his slightly drunken state. She liked the way his whole hand cupped the back of her head, and how his fingers tousled her sleek white hair, and how she could feel the cold metal of his visor press against her forehead. He tasted like beer and birthday cake, and she kind of liked that, too.

It wasn't long before she heard the exclamations of disbelief and shock, but she didn't look up to confirm who they were from. She didn't care. People might think this was a drunken hookup now, but Lisanna knew that it was more. She laughed against Bixlow's lips as the catcalls started. "I could get used to this," she confessed.

"Good," Bixlow said, grinning deviously. He grabbed her hips and pulled her into his lap, earning a bawdy round of cheers and an outraged string of cursing from Elfman. Despite his protests, the making out carried on long after the crowd lost interest. No one bothered to interrupt. It was clear from just one look that this was the first time, in a very long time, either of those lost souls had found true happiness.


End file.
